


Ripples in Time I: The Half Blood Prince

by marysiak



Series: The Marks We Bear [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, Half-Blood Prince AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: This is not another story but a series of vignettes. Time is a sturdy thing and it wants to happen. As a result the events of book 6 and 7 play out not so very differently than in the books, with a few notable exceptions. The following chapters will highlight some of those changes without going through all the minor differences. Some of them will be very similar to the books and contain a lot of JK Rowling's text with minor alterations, others will be completely new, sewing together a patchwork to illustrate how things can be different yet still remain the same.





	1. An Unexpected Ally

It was with a great deal of anxiety that Harry rode the train back to Kings Cross after the end of his fifth year. The Spring and Summer terms had been oddly uneventful after the wild ride that had been the end of 1995. But one thing had been praying more and more on his mind as the months went by, he had heard nothing from the Dursleys.

Draco had wanted to send Dudley the money they had promised him, but Harry had been afraid his Aunt and Uncle might notice such a large amount of money arriving from a mysterious sender, and besides it was long after Dudley’s deadline. So the bribe had never been paid and Harry had no reason to believe Dudley had not done as he had threatened and told his Uncle what he had seen. But there had been no letter telling him never to return, no letter of any sort.

Perhaps they simply wouldn’t show up to fetch him at the station. He had written to make sure they knew the date of his return, thinking that would surely incite the response he was expecting. No matter how religious his Aunt was feeling. But there had been nothing, and he didn’t even have Draco with him on the train to hold his hand, as he was travelling with Professor Snape directly to Grimmauld Place, where he would be spending the summer.

Harry had come close to begging the Headmaster to let him go with them. Sirius had been furious that Dumbledore was insisting Harry spend at least a month with the Dursleys before he could go anywhere else. Harry had never resented his ‘ancient blood magic’ protection more.

“It is worth it, Harry,” Dumbledore had said, in that infuriatingly quiet and kindly voice. “Your life is worth it, your mother’s sacrifice relies upon it.”

Then Professor Lupin had put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder and everyone had given in.

And now they were pulling into Kings Cross and Harry was trying to decide whether to try and get to Privet Drive by himself when the Dursleys didn’t show, or whether to just go straight to Grimmauld Place and say, “I told you so!” and thus avoid what would surely be a painful and embarrassing confrontation with his Uncle.

“We’ll keep trying,” assured Ron from next to him. “We’ll get you to the Burrow as soon as we can, Mum’s on the case.”

Harry smiled, but he suspected Mrs Weasley agreed with Dumbledore that Harry was safest at Privet Drive, especially given… but it still hurt like a knife in his chest to think about Mr Weasley. The thought of being at The Burrow again wasn’t one he was ready for… not yet. Would Mr Weasley’s name still be on their clock or would his arm have simply disappeared? Ron and Ginny were more like themselves now than they had been in the immediate aftermath, but they were not the same. Ron was quieter, and more serious. Ginny was moodier, and more prone to outbursts of crying or anger. Harry’s guilt always teased at the edges of his mind when he was with either of them.

The train drew into the platform with a noisy whistle, and outside the window Harry could see an unusual number of Aurors amongst the waiting parents. The new Minister of Magic had security on red alert everywhere, waiting for Voldemort to strike. But so far only random low level targets had been attacked, usually fatally as it always seemed to be exactly where the Aurors hadn’t thought to be. Hermione was certain there was at least one spy for Voldemort inside the Ministry. That and the attacks on Muggles were gradually increasing little by little, often blamed on accidents or terrorists from other countries.

They were still kept away from knowing much about what was really going on, most of their snippets came from Sirius, or sometimes in letters from the twins, who had joined the Order along with their two older brothers.

“Try to enjoy your time at school Harry, when it’s over you can never have it back again,” said Professor Lupin. “Besides, what you’re being taught is important, the better a wizard you are, the better you can fight when it comes time.”

And Harry had studied hard for his OWLs, and was confident of good results. But it was frustrating sometimes, feeling like half an adult still playing at being a child, while other people did what needed to be done. But he would play along just as long as Voldemort stayed relatively quiet, if it really came to war he’d leave Hogwarts even if he hadn’t got his NEWTs yet. He had already discussed it with Draco and Hermione and Ron. They all agreed that they wouldn’t sit back if they thought they could do more by leaving.

“Come on, Harry,” scolded Hermione. “You can’t just stay on the train. If the Dursley’s aren’t there… well we’ll deal with it when we know.”

“Yeah,” sighed Harry, and got his stuff together.

Ron, Ginny and Bill followed Harry off the platform. Bill was seeing his younger siblings home after completing his time as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He wasn’t coming back to teach next year as he wanted to help the Order more directly.

Harry pushed the cart with his trunk and the cage holding Hedwig on it through the wall into the busy Muggle station and looked around. He was genuinely surprised to see his Uncle standing alone, glaring at anyone who looked like they might be a wizard, but not looking any more annoyed at being there than usual.

“There you are, come on then,” growled Vernon, immediately turning to head out of the station.

Harry looked back at Ron, who just shrugged helplessly.

Harry followed his Uncle out to the car.

It wasn’t until Dudley returned from school two days later that Harry got a handle on what was going on. There had been no mention of Jesus in that time and all of the religious paraphernalia that had been in the house at Christmas had disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared. The way he was being treated hovered somewhere precarious in between how it had always been and how it had been over Christmas. Aunt Petunia seemed anxious, perhaps even fragile, and was giving him more food than he normally got. Uncle Vernon was just as bad tempered as ever, but there was something off about his behaviour that Harry couldn’t put his finger on.

Dudley cornered Harry in the garden within an hour of getting home. “You never got me my money,” he said accusingly.

“You never told your Dad,” Harry replied, his voice not confrontational, just curious.

Dudley shrugged. “I could have, I still could!”

“But you didn’t.”

Dudley looked away. “Yeah, well.” He sounded awkward. “That woman came over on Christmas Day. Said you might not be back… said that you’d been kidnapped by that man what killed your parents, and then Mum started crying cause she thought you were dead.”

“Aunt Petunia was crying?” said Harry, incredulous.

Dudley shrugged. “Well… my Mum brought you up didn’t she?” he said aggressively. “And I mean you’re kind of my brother, I mean you’re my cousin and I don’t like you, but you’re as close to a brother as I’ve got. So you know… I’d rather you weren’t dead.” His voice trailed off toward the end and he had stopped looking at Harry during his speech, now he was just staring at the fence, squinting a bit.

“Um… thanks?” said Harry.

“Well...” said Dudley. “I mean I bet I wouldn’t get away with half as much stuff as I do if you weren’t here to get blamed for everything. And if I told my Dad about… you know… well he’d kick you out.”

“So you won’t tell him.”

“Guess not,” said Dudley, then pulled himself back together a bit. “Your boyfriend still owes me that money though. He said he’d give it me and you can’t go back on it. Just cause I don’t want you dead doesn’t mean I won’t punch you in the head if you gyp me.”

“Noted,” said Harry. “I’ll get you the money.”

Dudley glanced at the house. “Besides, not sure Dad could cope with finding out you’re a queer, not on top of Mum shagging that Church bloke.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” said Dudley glumly. “That new Vicar. They had a big fight about it at New Years. Dad even moved out for a week.”

“Guess they worked it out though,” Harry said cautiously. He couldn’t imagine Aunt Petunia having sex with anyone… actually he just really didn’t want to… ugh.

Dudley shrugged. “We don’t have to go to Church any more. Anyway, I’m fucking off out of here to see Piers”

And he left.

–

Two weeks later Harry was given the surprise reprieve of being able to stay at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer. There had been a series of high profile deaths lately and he wondered if that was what had persuaded them to bring him to Order headquarters. Professor Dumbledore himself picked him up and took him there via a very odd trip to see a Horace Slughorn, someone the Headmaster wanted Harry to persuade to return to the school to teach next term.

But at last he was standing in the front hall of 12 Grimmauld Place feeling very much like he was coming home. After all, two of the most important people in his life were here; Draco and Sirius.

“Where is everyone,” Harry started to ask, but then Sirius was coming down the stairs to meet him with a wide grin and a large hug. Harry clung to him happily, before pulling away to look for Draco.

“Everyone’s gone to bed but me. Draco’s room is upstairs,” said Sirius. “Third floor, second door on the right.”

“Thanks,” said Harry with a grin, and ran off up the stairs to find his boyfriend.


	2. The Unbreakable Vow

The letter lay between them on the bed, the silence between them not strained, but worried.

 

‘ _Draco_ ,’ it read.

‘ _I know I shouldn’t be writing to you, I know maybe you don’t even want to hear from me. But there’s no one else I can talk to now. Not really. We were friends once, I thought we’d be more than friends. Everything was so simple back then.’_

_‘I hated you for a while… for destroying all that. Then I thought maybe you had a plan… but you didn’t did you. You just fell for him. It’s disgusting. Oh, I don’t mean because he’s a boy, Draco my darling, I’m not so old fashioned as all that. Just that it’s Potter. But I digress… I’m delaying. I know I shouldn’t write the things I want to write. But I can’t bear not being able to admit how frightened I am to anyone. It’s killing me.’_

_‘You mustn’t write back, it would be too risky. If anyone knew I was writing you I’d be in such trouble. But I just… I want to pretend I’m talking to you, and that you understand. I want to pretend you’re next to me holding my hand and telling me I can do this, that it will all be fine.’_

_‘I have a task you see, a job I have to do. They tell me it’s your fault, that I have to prove myself where you failed, that I have to show them that our generation isn’t weak and flawed. And I will, I can take the mark, and I can do it. I have to do it, you know what failure would mean.’_

_‘I’m so frightened, Draco. I can’t sleep with it.’_

_‘Please don’t show this to anybody, Please burn it once you’ve read it.’_

_‘I miss you. I wish you were still with us. I do still love you, even now._ ’

 

The letter was unsigned.

“It’s from Pansy,” said Draco. His voice shook a little.

“We have to show this to the others,” said Harry, reaching for it.

“No!” Draco’s hand on his wrist was hard and bruising. He snatched the letter away from Harry and folded it up.

“Draco,” Harry’s tone was conciliatory. “You can’t keep this to yourself...”

“Don’t I owe her that much,” Draco said, his eyes shuttered. “She was my friend, and I did betray her, I betrayed all of them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“You don’t understand!” Draco snapped. “To them their side is the right one! How do you think your friends would feel if you had chosen to join the Death Eaters when you fell for me?”

Harry was silenced by that. He knew Draco had cautiously renewed some of his friendships in Slytherin House since Christmas, but he still couldn’t think of most of them as anything but the enemy. He thought a moment before he spoke again. “Still… we can’t tell no one. You could…. you could show it to Snape?”

That got Draco’s attention. He thought about it and finally said, “All right, but only Snape. You forget you even saw it. Promise me.”

“I can’t forget I saw it,” said Harry. “But as long as you show it to Snape I won’t talk about it to anyone.”

–

Draco knocked on the door of the guest bedroom on the first floor and stood waiting, after a few seconds it opened a crack and Severus Snape, his long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes, looked down at Draco. He was only here occasionally, mostly he stayed at Hogwarts, preferring to be somewhere Sirius Black was not.

“May I speak to you,” Draco asked. “In private?”

“Of course,” replied Snape, standing back to allow him to enter.

The room was dark but clean, Grimmauld Place was gradually becoming habitable, the Order having been working out of it for almost a year now.

“So, what can I do for you?”

Draco walked over to where Snape had clearly been sitting before he had been interrupted. The table by the fire was well lit by candle light and an open bottle of wine sat next to one half filled glass and a book. There was only one chair.

“May I have a glass?” he asked.

“If you wish,” Snape replied, producing a glass and second chair with a wave of his wand. Draco sat down as Snape filled the second wine glass for him.

Draco picked it up and looked at the dark liquid. He hadn’t drunk wine since he had left Malfoy Manor nearly a year ago, he wasn’t sure why he had asked for some now. Perhaps because he was anxious. He glanced up at Snape who was watching him silently from his own chair.

“To defeating the Dark Lord,” Draco said half-sarcastically, tipping his wine glass toward his Professor.

Snape did not reply, but inclined his glass also and took a sip as Draco did.

“I’m sorry to come to you so late,” Draco began. “I think you’re the only one...”

Snape held up a hand to stop him, then pointed his wand toward the door. There was a loud bang and then a squeal, followed by the sound of someone scurrying back up stairs. “My apologies, the house is full of Weasleys tonight and they are rather prone to listening at doors. You were saying, Draco?”

He took a deep breath and started again “I was told not to show anyone – but I think maybe you could help, there’s no one else who would really understand...”

“This is about the letter you received two nights ago.”

“How did you know?”

“Nothing comes into this house that the Order is not aware of, not even an owl. I was told you received a letter, there was a great deal of discussion as to whether you should be forced to show it to someone. I told them you could be trusted to show it to me if necessary, and here you are. Proving me correct as usual.”

Draco smiled at the smugness in Professor Snape’s voice. “Yes, here I am. But I won’t show you the letter unless you promise not to tell anyone else who it’s from or what it says.”

“I will not promise that, because I will not make a promise that I may have to break. You will have to trust my discretion, Draco. If you want my assistance.”

Draco looked down into his wine, one hand idling near his pocket where the letter rested. “The letter was from Pansy,” he said. “Though it’s unsigned. I recognise her handwriting. I want… I want you to help her. She’s in trouble and it’s my fault.”

“Your fault? That seems unlikely, you have been here or at school, what could you possibly have done to endanger Miss Parkinson?”

“I left her alone with them,” said Draco softly.

“Ah,” said Professor Snape. “Will you let me see the letter, Draco? Please.”

Draco slowly withdrew the parchment from inside his robes and held it out to Professor Snape with a slight tremble in his fingers.

Snape put down his glass and read the letter silently, enough time passed that he had clearly read it several times before he laid it down on the table. “What would you have me do?”

“Help her!” said Draco. “She’s not a bad person, she’s just on the wrong side. You of all people understand that.”

“You wish me to persuade her to leave the Dark Lord’s service? You of all people know how perilous that can be.”

“No, I want you to protect her. From herself if need be. I want you to make the Unbreakable Vow, that you’ll keep her safe and that you won’t tell anyone that she’s taken the Mark.”

Snape drew back in shock. “The Unbreakable Vow? Draco, why would you even ask that?”

Draco looked him straight in the eyes. “Because Pansy was my friend, because she most likely would have been my wife, had I not turned my back on that path. Because she loves me and she needs somebody to save her and I don’t know how, but I think you do. And because I know you, well enough I think, to know that you’ll put other things and other people ahead of her, let her slip through the cracks, if I don’t make sure you have no choice but to help her. She wrote to me because there was no one else, she didn’t think I’d be able to do anything to help, but I can and I will. If you won’t make the Unbreakable Vow then I’ll help her myself even if it does put me in danger.”

“No, I won’t allow it.”

“I’ll make my own Unbreakable Vow, then you’ll have to let me help her whether you like it or not.”

“Draco….”

They stared at each other, at an impasse, until Snape broke the connection to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. “It takes three people to make the Unbreakable Vow,” he said at last.

“Harry already knows, he can be the bonder.”

“And the words must be written out and agreed on first, I will not make blind promises.”

“Of course.”

“Very well, then I will make the Vow. Though I fear your loyalty is misplaced.”

“If I had stayed on the Dark Lord’s side, then whatever task it is Pansy has been given would most likely have been given to me. I won’t have her hurt because I left her to deal with this alone.”

“She is hardly alone and from what I have seen she is a perfectly capable young woman.”

“I don’t care, she needs my help and I’m giving it to her in the best way I can.”

“Then fetch Harry and we will get this over with.”

Once Harry had been brought down, had the Vow explained to him, argued a bit about the wisdom of it, but finally agreed, and the door had been locked and double checked for Extendible Ear intrusion, Snape lowered himself stiffly onto the rug before the fireplace so that he was kneeling opposite Draco. Beneath Harry’s nervous gaze they grasped right hands.

“You will need your wand, Potter,” said Snape coldly.

He drew it, still looking worried.

“And you will need to move a little closer,” he said.

He stepped forwards so that he stood over them, and placed the tip of his wand on their linked hands.

Draco spoke. “Will you, Severus Snape, watch over Pansy Parkinson as she attempts to fulfil the task she has been given?”

“I will,” said Snape.

A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound it’s way around their hands like a red-hot wire.

“And will you, to the best of your ability, protect her from harm over this next year?”

“I will,” said Snape.

A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.

“And, should it prove necessary… if it seems she will fail completely…” whispered Draco, “will you get her to safety even if she doesn’t want to go?”

“I will,” said Snape.

Their faces glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake.


	3. Pansy's Detour

Harry remained within the confines of 12 Grimmauld Place over the next few weeks. He spent most of his days with Draco ostensibly playing wizarding chess and reading or doing homework. In reality they were having an awful lot of sex, it certainly passed the time. With only Sirius and Lupin permanently housed with them, and even they were regularly out and about on Order business, they pretty much had free reign to do as they wanted as long as they didn’t leave the premises. There was even an extremely overgrown back garden that they had taken on as a project for the two of them to tame.

It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Sirius or Remus or one of the other Order members brought home news before it even reached the paper. Harry’s sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Bill Weasley, who was looking gaunt and grim, his once merry eyes now marred by dark bags and premature wrinkles.

“There have been another couple of Dementor attacks,” he announced, as his Mother passed him a large slice of birthday cake. “And they’ve found Igor Karkaroff’s body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters,” commented Sirius. “My brother Regulus only managed a few days.”

“Yes, well,” said Mrs Weasley, frowning, “perhaps we should talk about something diff-”

“Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Bill?” asked Tonks as she plied him with wine. “The man who ran-”

“- the ice cream place in Diagon Alley?” Harry interrupted, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “He used to give me free ice creams. What’s happened to him?”

“Dragged off, by the look of his place.”

“Why?” asked Ron, while Mrs Weasley pointedly glared at Tonks and Bill.

“Who knows? He must have upset them somehow,” said Tonks.

“He was a good man, Florean,” said Bill, sadly.

“Talking of Diagon Alley,” said Sirius. “Looks like Ollivander’s gone too.”

“The wand-maker,” said Ginny, looking startled.

“That’s the one. Shop’s empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped.”

“But wands – what’ll people do for wands?” asked Hermione.

“They’ll make do with other makers,” said Remus. “But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it’s not so good for us.”

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Hermione had been staying over at the Burrow for a week before she and Ron had joined Harry at Grimmauld Place and they’d had some sort of falling out. They’d been pointedly not looking at each other all through the meal and Harry finally cornered Hermione in the hallway afterwards.

“It’s nothing,” she claimed, not quite meeting his eye. “We were together and now we’re not, I don’t see why it has to be a big deal.”

“But what happened? I thought everything was going really well?”

But Hermione refused to discuss it and when he cornered Ron later that evening all he said was. “Women! Don’t expect me to explain what goes on in her head!” in a very sour tone.

The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, their letters and book lists arrived from Hogwarts. Harry’s included a surprise: he had been made Quidditch Captain.

“That gives you equal status with prefects!” cried Hermione happily. “You can use our special bathroom now, and everything!”

“Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of those,” said Ron, examining the badge. “Harry, this is so cool, you’re my captain – if you let me back on the team I suppose, ha ha….”

Draco tried to look pleased, but didn’t quite manage it.

“Maybe you could get back to playing Quidditch again this year,” Harry suggested.

“I don’t think so,” said Draco. “It doesn’t matter any way.”

But it very obviously did.

“Well, I don’t suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you’ve got your lists,” said Remus, looking them over. “Sirius and I will take you on Saturday as long as nothing else comes up before then.”

“Even me and Harry?” asked Draco.

“Yes, even you two.”

“Is that really safe...” asked Hermione.

“D’you honestly think You-Know-Who’s going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?” sniggered Ron.

“Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?” snapped Hermione. “You might think security’s a laughing matter but I doubt your Mother would agree-”

“Oh, don’t get her involved, or none of us’ll end up going. I want to see Fred and George’s shop!”

“I already spoke to Mrs Weasley,” said Remus. “She agreed that I could take Ron with you three as long as there was enough security to keep you safe. She’ll meet us there and Ron can go back to the Burrow with her and Ginny afterwards.”

Ron grimaced at the fact he wasn’t allowed to stay on with Harry at Grimmauld Place until school started, but Harry had to admit to himself that he was rather looking forward to time off from the fallout of his and Hermione’s break up.

But Ron was careful not to be flippant around Hermione over the next few days. Saturday dawned without any more outbursts, just a permanent state of semi cold war. Bill and Tonks showed up together a half hour before it was time to leave, they had started dating not long ago and often arrived or left together. Harry was pleased for them, he liked them both a great deal and Tonks seemed to lighten Bill’s mood, making him more like the man Harry had known before Mr Weasley had died. Bill passed a full money-bag across to Harry.

“Where’s mine?” demanded Ron at once, his eyes wide.

“That’s already Harry’s, idiot,” said Bill. “I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, because it’s taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Fortunately they still consider me one of theirs.”

“Thanks, Bill,” said Harry, pocketing his gold.

“That’s our Bill,” said Tonks supportively. “Always looking out for everyone.” As they gazed at one another soppily, Ron mimicked vomiting into his cereal.

It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which Harry had ridden once before, was awaiting them in front of the house when they emerged, pulling on their cloaks. It was being driven by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry is a bit overstretched at the moment, but Harry’s name still warrants a bit of attention. He’s been given top grade security status,” said Remus as they got in.

Harry said nothing: he didn’t much fancy doing his shopping while surrounded by a battalion of Aurors and Order members. He had stowed his invisibility cloak in his backpack and felt that, if that was good enough for Dumbledore, it ought to be good enough for the Ministry, though now he came to think about it, he was not sure the Ministry knew about his cloak.

“Here you are, then,” said Kingsley before very long, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. “I’ll wait here for you, any idea how long you’ll be?”

“A couple of hours, I expect,” said Remus. “Ah, good, he’s here!”

Harry peered through the window next to Remus; his heart leapt. There were no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming at the sight of Harry’s face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.

“Harry!” he boomed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry had stepped out of the car.

“We didn’t know security meant you,” grinned Harry as he massaged his ribs.

“I know, jus’ like old times, innit? The Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o’ Aurors, but Dumbledore said I’d do,” said Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “Let’s get goin’ then – after yeh, Remus, Sirius -”

The Leaky Cauldron was, for the first time in Harry’s memory, completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained of the old crowd. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, “Jus’ passing through today, Tom, sure yeh understand. Hogwarts business, yeh know.”

Tom nodded gloomily and returned to wiping glasses as they all walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and rapped on a certain brick in the wall, which opened at once to form an archway on to a winding cobbled street. They stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around.

Diagon Alley had changed. The colourful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potions ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Lestrange was sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary. A few windows were boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to it’s front, ‘Amulets: Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors and Inferi’. A seedy looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passers-by.

“One for your son, sir.” he called at Sirius as they passed.

Remus picked one cautiously up off the stall and then waggled it at Sirius, smirking.

“Silver are they,” said Sirius to the stall keeper, playing along.

“Oh, yes sir,” the stall keeper swore, looking eagerly at them. “Best thing to keep your children safe.”

“No, thank you,” said Lupin, chucking the clearly not silver amulet back to the vendor.

“I think we better do Madam Malkin’s first,” said Hermione. “I need new dress robes and you can see half way up to Ron’s knees in his current school robes.” Ron scowled as Hermione continued blithely. “You must need new ones too, Harry, I swear you’ve grown at least two inches since last year.”

“Two and a half,” said Harry proudly. Being friends with Ron always made him feel short. Actually he just was short, but at least he was getting taller at last. Draco only had an inch on him now.

“That’ll take a while,” said Sirius. “Why don’t you three go with Hagrid and we’ll take Draco to Flourish & Blotts and get everyone’s school books.”

“I’m not sure we should split up,” said Remus.

“Don’ fret, they’ll be fine with me, Perfesser Lupin,” said Hagrid confidently, waving a hand the size of a dustbin lid. Lupin didn’t look entirely convinced, but clearly didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary getting the shopping, so they separated and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin’s.

Harry noticed that many of the people who passed them had the same harried, anxious look on their faces, and that nobody was stopping to talk any more; the shoppers stayed together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone.

“Migh’ be a bit of a squeeze in there with all o’ use,” said Hagrid, stopping outside Madame Malkin’s and bending down to peer through the window. “I’ll stand guard outside, all righ’?”

So, Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the little shop together. It appeared at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled blue and green.

“… not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

There was a clucking noise and a voice Harry recognised as that of Madam Malkin said, “Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own any more, it’s nothing to do with being a child -”

“Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

A teenage girl with a pug nose and thick black hair appeared from behind the rack wearing a surprisingly tasteful set of dark green dress robes with a tight bodice and long full sleeves that glittered with pins around the hems. She strode to the mirror and examined herself; it was a few minutes before she noticed Harry, Ron and Hermione reflected over her shoulder. Her dark eyes narrowed.

“If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood walked in,” said Pansy Parkinson.

“I don’t think there’s any need for language like that!” said Madame Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop, either!” she added hastily for a glance towards the door had shown her Hermione and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Pansy.

Harry, who had been left standing slightly behind them when they had stepped forward, whispered, “No, don’t, it’s not worth it...”

“Like she’d dare do magic out of school,” sneered Pansy. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? Was it Weasley attempting to show affection?”

“That’s quite enough!” said Madame Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. “Madam – please -”

A woman Harry supposed must be Pansy’s mother strolled out from behind the clothes rack.

“Put those away,” she said coldly to Hermione and Ron. “If you attempt to harm my daughter, I shall ensure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

“Really?” said Harry, taking a step forwards and gazing into her smoothly arrogant face, she looked quite a lot like Pansy though her nose was considerably more aquiline. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. “Really, you shouldn’t accuse her – dangerous thing to say – wands away, please!”

But Harry had drawn his own wand out as well.

Mrs Parkinson smiled unpleasantly. “I see that being Dumbledore’s favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

Harry looked mockingly around the shop. “Wow… look at that… he’s not here now! So why not have a go! Maybe they can put your snooty face on a wanted poster too!”

Pansy made an angry movement towards them, but stumbled on the hem of her robe. Ron snorted with laughter. “Don’t you dare talk to my Mother like that, Potter!” she snarled.

“It’s all right, Pansy,” said Mrs Parkinson, restraining her with long fingers upon her shoulder. “I expect Potter just misses seeing his face emblazoned on everything, I’m sure they’ll put a nice big picture on his obituary.”

All three of them raised their wands higher.

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn’t. She bent towards Pansy, who was still glaring at Harry. “I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just -”

“Ouch!” squawked Pansy, slapping her hand away, “watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother – I don’t think I want these any more -”

She pulled the robes over her head with a bit of a struggle and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin’s feet, leaving her in a tight black top, still long sleeved.

“You’re right, Pansy,” said Mrs Parkinson, helping her back on with her cloak while casting a contemptuous glance at Hermione, “now I know the kind of scum that shops here… we’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tattings.”

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Pansy taking care to step on Hermione’s foot on the way out.

“Well, really,” said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed the dust.

She was distracted all through the fitting of Ron and Harry’s new robes, tried to sell Hermione wizard’s dress robes instead of witches, and when she finally bowed them out if the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.

“Got ev’rything?” asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.

“Just about,” said Harry. “Did you see the Parkinsons?”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, unconcerned. “Bu’ they wouldn’ dare make trouble in the middle o’ Diagon Alley, Harry, don’ worry abou’ them.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, but before they could disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Remus and Sirius and Draco appeared, all carrying heavy packages of books and followed by Mrs Weasley and Ginny.

"Everyone all right?" said Sirius. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's…”

“Lovely to see you Harry,” said Mrs Weasley fondly. “Stick close, now…" She had the same anxious look on her face as the rest of the shoppers, and Harry could only be glad that Remus and Sirius seemed to be less afraid. It made him feel less afraid to know that they weren’t frightened.

Neither Harry nor Ron bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that they were no longer studying Potions, but both bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

"We really haven't got too long before Kingsley needs to have you back," Mrs. Weasley said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then get back to the Leaky Cauldron. We must be close, that's number ninety-two... ninety-four…"

"Whoa,"said Ron, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George’s windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passers-by were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry’s eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT  
YOU-KNOW-WHO?  
YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT  
U-NO-POO--  
THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION  
THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Harry and Sirius started to laugh. He heard a weak sort of moan beside him and looked around to see Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the name "U-No-Poo."

"They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispered.

"No they won't!" said Ron, who, like Harry, was laughing. "This is brilliant!"

And he and Harry led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers; Harry could not get near the shelves. Draco quickly moved into his side, not wanting to lose him in the crush, and took his hand. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; Harry noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and Harry pushed his way toward the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: Reusable hangman - spell it or he'll swing!

"Patented Daydream Charms" Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly coloured picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship. "One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens. You know," said Hermione, looking up at Harry, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

Ron glowered at her silently, as if offended that she might replace him with an imaginary pirate.

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.

"How are you, Harry?" They shook hands. "Malfoy. And what's happened to your eye, Hermione?"

“Your punching telescope," she said ruefully.

"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," said Fred. "Here…" He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste. "Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour," said Fred. "We had to find a decent bruise remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."

Hermione looked nervous. "It is safe, isn't it?" she asked.

"Course it is," said Fred bracingly. "Come on, Harry, I'll give you a tour. Malfoy can come too if he must."

Harry and Draco left Hermione dabbing her black eye with paste and followed Fred toward the back of the shop, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks. "Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred, pointing them out. "Kind of in honour of Dad, you know, turns out he’s not the only one who loves Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties... Oh, here's George…"

Fred's twin shook Harry's hand energetically. "Giving him the tour? Come through the back, Harry, that's where we're making the real money...pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!" he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labelled: EDIBLE DARK MARKS----THEY'LL MAKE ANYONE SICK!

George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Harry saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

“We've just developed this more serious line," said Fred. "Funny how it happened…"

"You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm," said George. "'Course, they didn't have the impetus we’ve had to learn that stuff."

"That's right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!"

"So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves…"

"... I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes…"

"And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defence Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," continued George enthusiastically. "This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape."

"And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look," said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. "You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.

"Handy," said Harry, impressed.

"Here," said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry.

A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain; Harry saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.

"There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said.

Harry found it very odd to hear Fred and George called "Mr. Weasley," but they took it in their stride.

"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," said George promptly. "Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge."

"I can't do that!" said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.

"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Harry's gold.

"But…"

"You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten," said George sternly "Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask."

George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led Harry back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.

"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies…"

Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.

"There you go," said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."

Ginny raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Do they work?" she asked.

"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question…"

"... and the attractiveness of the girl," said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've…"

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," said Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"Yes, I am," said Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?" She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

"Pygmy Puffs," said George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?"

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn't recoil.

"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you'' she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves."

Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.

Draco sniggered quietly and Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" said Ginny at once.

"A what?" said Mrs. Weasley warily.

"Look, they're so sweet…"

Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Harry, Ron, and Draco momentarily had an unimpeded view out of the window. Pansy Parkinson was hurrying up the street alone. As she passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, she glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, she moved beyond the scope of the window and they lost sight of her.

"Wonder where her mummy is?" said Ron, mockingly.

"Given her the slip by the looks of it," said Harry.

"Why, though?" said Draco looking at Harry with meaning.

Harry said nothing; not really wanting to get involved, but suspecting they had to.

“We have to find out where she’s going,” hissed Draco.

Harry glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Sirius was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards, showing them to Remus. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.

Harry snagged Hermione’s arm and whispered, “Cover for us.”

“What?” she said, confused.

“We need to step out for a minute.” Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "Get under here, quick," he said to Draco.

"I’m coming too," said Ron.

"Hurry up then," said Harry.

Nobody noticed them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George's products. The three of them squeezed their way out of the door as quickly as they could, but by the time they gained the street, Pansy had disappeared just as successfully as they had.

"She was going in that direction," murmured Draco as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them...

They scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Harry pointed ahead.

"That's her, isn't it?" he whispered. "Turning left?"

"Big surprise," whispered Ron.

For Parkinson had glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

"Quick, or we'll lose her," said Draco, speeding up.

"Our feet'll be seen!" said Harry anxiously, as the cloak flapped a little around their ankles; it was really not suited to three sixteen year old boys, one of whom was rapidly approaching six foot.

"It doesn't matter," said Draco impatiently. "Just hurry!"

But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looked completely deserted. They peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. Harry supposed it was a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artefacts... or at least, to be seen buying them.

Draco gave his arm a hard pinch.

"Ouch!"

"Shh! Look! She's in there!" he breathed in Harry's ear.

They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Pansy Parkinson with her back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Draco and his father. Judging by the movements of her hands, she was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing her. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

"If only we could hear what they're saying!" said Harry.

"We can!" said Ron excitedly. "Hang on, damn."

He dropped a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching as he fumbled with the largest. "Extendible Ears, look!"

"Fantastic!" said Harry, as Ron unravelled the long, flesh-coloured strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door.

"I hope the door isn't Imperturbable…" said Draco.

"No!" said Ron gleefully. "Listen!"

They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Parkinson's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

"... you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Parkinson. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" said Parkinson, and Harry knew, just by her tone, that she was sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

She moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Draco shuffled sideways to try and keep her in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," said Parkinson, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for…"

"I'll decide that," said Parkinson. "Well, I'd better be going. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not... madam." Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my parents, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Parkinson stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with herself. She passed so close to Harry, Ron, and Draco that they felt the cloak flutter around their knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendible Ears.

"Dunno," said Harry, thinking hard. "He wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something in there... Could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, he was behind that cabinet…" said Draco

"You two stay here," whispered Ron.

"What are you... ?"

But Ron had already ducked out from under the cloak. He checked himself in the reflection in the glass, then marched into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Harry hastily fed the Extendible Ears back under the door and passed one of the strings to Draco.

"Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?" Ron said cheerfully to Borgin, who did not answer, but cast him a suspicious look. Humming tunelessly, Ron strolled through the jumble of objects on display.

"Is this necklace for sale?" he asked, pausing beside a glass-fronted case.

"If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons," said Mr. Borgin coldly.

"Oh... er... no, I haven't got quite that much," said Ron, walking on. "And... what about this lovely... um... skull?"

"Sixteen Galleons."

"So it's for sale, then? It isn't being... kept for anyone?"

Mr. Borgin squinted at him. Harry had the nasty feeling he knew exactly what Ron was up to. Apparently Ron felt he had been rumbled too because he suddenly threw caution to the winds.

"The thing is, that... er... girl who was in here just now, Pansy Parkinson, well, she's my girlfriend, and I want to get her a birthday present, but if she's already reserved anything, I obviously don't want to get her the same thing, so... um…"

“Ron and Pansy!” snorted Draco, who apparently found the very concept laughable.

It was a pretty lame story in Harry's opinion, and apparently Borgin thought so too.

"Out," he said sharply. "Get out!"

Ron did not wait to be asked twice, but hurried to the door with Borgin at his heels. As the bell tinkled again, Borgin slammed the door behind him and put up the closed sign.

"Ah well," said Ron, ducking back under the cloak as Harry held it open for him. "Worth a try.”

“You were a bit obvious…" said Draco.

"Well, next time you can show me how it's done, Master of Mystery!" he snapped.

They bickered all the way back to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where they were forced to stop so that they could dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Mrs Weasley and Hagrid, who had clearly noticed their absence. Once in the shop, Harry whipped off the Invisibility Cloak, and hid it in his bag. Hermione was stalling Remus and Sirius, so they hadn’t noticed they were missing yet. When Mrs Weasley came back inside all three of them insisted, with Hermione agreeing, that they had been in the back room all along, and that she could not have looked properly.

 


	4. Silver and Opals

Harry looked up. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them. "Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell -- upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Potter?"

"It's the thing she touched," said Harry.

"Good lord," said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. "No, no, Filch, they're with me!" she added hastily, as Filch came shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. "Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it wrapped in the scarf!"

Harry and the others followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.

"Well?" she said sharply. "What happened?"

Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.

"All right," said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, "go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock."

When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "What happened when Katie touched the necklace?"

"She rose up in the air," said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, "and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?"

"The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.

"Away?" Harry repeated angrily.

"Yes, Potter, away!" said Professor McGonagall tartly. "But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!"

For a split second, Harry hesitated. Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences; Dumbledore, though in many ways more intimidating, still seemed less likely to scorn a theory, however wild. Also he had promised Draco to keep Pansy’s letter a secret…. But this wasn’t about the letter, or rather he didn’t have to mention that to at least warn Professor McGonagall. This was a life-and-death matter, and not a moment to worry about possible consequences. "I think Pansy Parkinson gave Katie that necklace, Professor."

On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry. But Harry already knew they didn’t believe Pansy was any real threat, after all they didn’t know the full story.

"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"

"No," said Harry, "but..." and he told her about following Pansy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had over-heard between her and Mr. Borgin.

When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused. "Pansy Parkinson took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?"

"No, Professor, she just wanted Borgin to tell her how to mend something, she didn't have it with her. But that's not the point, the thing is that she bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace –"

"You saw Miss Parkinson leaving the shop with a similar package?"

"No, Professor, she told Borgin to keep it in the shop for her –"

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "You said Borgin asked her if she wanted to take it with her, and Pansy said no –"

"Because she didn't want to touch it, obviously!" said Harry angrily.

"What she said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?'" said Ron. "But why would she care about being seen carrying a necklace?”

"It would be all wrapped up, so she wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak,” agreed Hermione. “So nobody would see it! I think whatever she reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something she knew would draw attention to her if she carried it down the street.”

“ -- and in any case," Ron pressed on before Harry could interrupt, buoyed by the unusual event of Hermione agreeing with him on something, "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Parkinson had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything –"

"Well, you were being really obvious,” argued Harry. “He realised what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you – anyway, Parkinson could've sent off for it since –"

"That's enough!" said Professor McGonagall, as Ron opened his mouth to retort. "Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Miss Parkinson purely because she visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people –"

"-- that's what I said --" muttered Ron.

"-- and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge –"

"But –"

"-- and what is more," said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, "Miss Parkinson was not in Hogsmeade today."

Harry gaped at her, deflating.

"How do you know, Professor?"

"Because she was doing detention with me. She has now failed to complete her Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she said as she marched past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all." She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.

Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall; nevertheless, he felt compelled to join in once they started discussing what had happened.

"So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?" asked Ron, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.

"Goodness only knows," said Hermione. "But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace."

"It could've been meant for loads of people," said Harry. "Dumbledore – the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or Slughorn -- Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or –"

"Or Draco," said Hermione, looking troubled.

"I suppose," said Harry, but the letter they had received suggested otherwise, although perhaps that had just been to lull Draco into a false sense of security. "It had to be someone who wasn’t in Hogsmeade today, or it would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out.” He stopped climbing the stairs. “Actually, I think I’m going to go and see what Snape thinks."

“Do you want us to come with you?” asked Ron, who preferred not to do anything that involved Snape.

“Nah,” said Harry. “Go on and get warm. I want to stop by and see Draco too, so I’ll be a while.”

Hermione and Ron continued up the stairs, although Harry saw them automatically drifting apart now that they weren’t walking with him. He sighed, wondering if they would ever get back to the way they had been. At least their mutual agreement that Pansy Parkinson wasn’t up to something nefarious gave them some common ground.

Harry decided to go talk to Snape before he visited Draco, he didn’t want Draco to know that he’d told Professor McGonagall of his suspicions. But when he arrived at Snape’s classroom their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was heading out the door in a hurry.

“What is it, Potter?” he muttered as Harry chased after him down the corridor.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened to Katie… about who gave her the necklace.”

“As concerned as I am that the culprit be found, Miss Bell’s immediate health is of greater import,” Snape informed him, not slowing down. “You brought the necklace to the school, yes?”

“Yes,” panted Harry, Snape’s strides seemed to be unmatchably long and he was having trouble keeping up.

“You did well not to touch it, it is extremely dangerous.”

“Um… thank you,” Harry was still not used to receiving praise from Snape. “But don’t you think- ” he looked around to check no one was nearby, then hissed, “ -don’t you think it must have been Pansy Parkinson who gave it to her?”

Snape stopped suddenly, causing Harry to almost fall over his own feet. His expression was severe. “Stay out of this, Potter. You know what I promised, don’t get in my way.”

“I’m not trying to get in your way!” protested Harry. “I just-”

“Enough,” he snarled. “I must get to the Hospital Wing. Unless you actually saw something specifically useful?” He paused.

Harry shook his head resignedly.

“Then I suggest you go and speak to Draco if you must theorise, and leave me be.”

“Fine,” said Harry sulkily, and trudged away towards Draco’s room.


	5. Dumbledore's Army

Hermione made no mention of Harry and Draco giving extra Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons for two whole weeks after her original suggestion. The subject was broached again, on a wild, blustery evening in the middle of November, when the four of them were sitting in the library, looking up Defence books for an essay Snape had set them.

'I was wondering,' Hermione said suddenly, 'whether you'd thought any more about the after school club I suggested.'

Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page about Inferi, because he did not want to say what was in his mind and start another argument with Draco.

He had given the matter a great deal of thought over the past fortnight. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night after Katie Bell had been injured when Hermione had first proposed it, but at others, he had found himself thinking about the spells that had served him best in his various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters - found himself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons . . .

'Well,' he said slowly, when he could no longer pretend to find Inferi interesting, 'yeah, I - I've thought about it a bit.'

'And?' said Hermione eagerly.

'I dunno,' said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron.

'I thought it was a good idea from the start,' said Ron, who seemed keen to agree with Hermione.

‘Well I don’t, Snape can teach people what they need to know, there’s no need for us to get involved,” said Draco.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

'You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?' he said to Ron and Hermione. Draco gave him a disgusted look, already aware that Harry was half way to agreeing.

'Yes, Harry,' said Hermione gently, 'but all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, because you are. You were the only person in fourth year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full-grown wizards can't, Viktor always said - '

Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Yeah? What did Vicky say?'

'Ho ho,' said Hermione in a bored voice. 'He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.'

Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.

'You're not still in contact with him, are you?'

'So what if I am?' said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. 'I can have a pen-pal if I - '

'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' said Ron accusingly.

Hermione shook her head exasperatedly and, ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Harry, 'Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?'

'Just you two, yeah?'

'Well,' said Hermione, looking a mite anxious again. 'Well . . . now, don't fly off the handle again, Draco, please . . . but I really think we ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort. Oh, don't be pathetic, Ron. It doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people.'

Harry considered this for a moment, then said, 'I suppose...’

‘Oh, come off it!” hissed Draco. ‘As if anyone is going to want to learn from me! Besides, it’s just one more way of painting a target on ourselves.’

'Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say,' said Hermione seriously. 'And the target on your back could hardly get any bigger than it already is. Look,' she leaned towards him - Ron, who was still watching her with a frown on his face, leaned forwards to listen too – 'I thought maybe this weekend we could have a meeting just to talk it over? We can tell anyone who's interested to meet us in Draco’s room and that way anyone who’s on the wrong side won’t even be able to get in past the wards.'

‘So not only do you want me to teach a bunch of Hufflepuff idiots how to fight You-Know-Who, you also want to fill my room with them!’ grumped Draco.

‘You don’t have to teach if you don’t want to,’ said Harry soothingly. ‘But with everything that’s happening I think this might be really important, people need to be able to protect themselves, they need to learn to be more cautious. What happened to Katie could happen to anyone, and when the war really starts we want the people on our side to be ready. As many of them as possible.’

‘But in my room….’ moaned Draco.

 

The morning of the meeting dawned bright but windy. Draco was still sulking a bit, but as Harry had done his best to make up any inconvenience to him last night, he could only summon up a partially cloudy expression. ‘Are you sure I can’t just go somewhere else?’ he asked again. ‘I mean, Harry’s the one who wants to teach people.’

‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘Just do this first meeting, you might change your mind.’

‘Besides,’ said Hermione. ‘Sirius is spending the day with Professor Lupin, so he’s not here to escort you anywhere else and you can hardly troop off on your own while we’re all here, can you?’

'So, who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?' Harry asked, trying to move the topic on.

'Just a couple of people,' Hermione repeated, checking her watch and looking anxiously towards the door. 'I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is -” There was a knock at the door. ‘Oh, this might be them now.'

She got up and opened the door, the initial view of Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley swiftly morphed into an incoming rush of a crowd of people.

Draco moaned in horror.

After Neville and Ginny came Dean, Seamus and Lavender, who were closely followed by Parvati and Padma Patil with Cho Chang (Harry felt a faint blush, he’d had such a crush on her in fourth year that he still felt a bit awkward around her) and one of her usually-giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Colin and Dennis Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry did not know; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot; Zacharias Smith, a tall skinny blond boy with an upturned nose whom Harry knew best as having shopped Justin to the school inspectors last year and, bringing up the rear, Lisa Turpin and Tracey Davis (the only Slytherin aside from Draco).

'A couple of people?' said Harry hoarsely to Hermione. 'A couple of people?'

'Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,' said Hermione happily. 'Do you think we can magic up some more chairs, or some cushions at least?'

Harry watched numbly as the large chattering group tried to figure out where to sit in the small, insufficiently furnished room. He could not imagine what all these people had turned up for until the horrible thought occurred to him that they might be expecting some kind of speech, at which he rounded on Hermione.

'What have you been telling people?' he said in a low voice. 'What are they expecting?'

'I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say,' said Hermione soothingly; but Harry continued to look at her so furiously that she added quickly, 'you don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first.'

'Hi, Harry' said Neville, beaming and plopping himself down on the cold floor.

Harry tried to smile back, but did not speak; his mouth was exceptionally dry. Cho had just smiled at him and sat down on Draco’s bed. Her friend, who had curly reddish-blonde hair, did not smile, but gave Harry and Draco a thoroughly mistrustful look which plainly told him that, given her way, she would not be here at all.

In twos and threes the new arrivals settled around Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione, some looking rather excited, others curious, Luna Lovegood gazing dreamily into space. When everybody had sat on a chair or the bed or the bedside table or the floor, the chatter died out. Every eye was upon Harry and Draco.

Harry could feel the tension crackling off Draco.

'Er,' said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. 'Well - er - hi.'

The group focused its attention on her instead, though eyes continued to dart back regularly to the others.

'Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you're here. Erm . . . well, Harry here had the idea - I mean' (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) 'I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to brush up on Defence Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not just the stuff we cover in class - '(Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) ' - because that won’t be enough now that things are getting really serious - ' ('Hear, hear,' said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened) ' - Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.'

She paused, looked sideways at Harry and went on, 'And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, learning what happens in a real fight - '

'You want an O in your Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT too, though, I bet?' said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.

'Of course I do,' said Hermione at once. 'But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because . . . because . . .' she took a great breath and finished, 'because Katie Bell just nearly died, and I’ve nearly died, and Ron and Harry and Draco and even Ginny have all nearly died. We may be children in the eyes of our teachers and parents, but our lives are on the line as much as anyone else’s.'

Everyone looked quite startled by Hermione’s fervent words, and some not a little frightened.

Well . . . that's the plan, anyway,' said Hermione. 'If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to -

'If we’re fighting against You-Know-Who then why’s he here?' said Zacharias Smith in a rather aggressive voice.

'Well, actually - ' Hermione began, looking coldly at him.

'We all know what the Malfoy’s believe,' said the blond boy, sneering at Draco.

'Why are you even here?' said Ron, rather rudely.

'I think we've got the right to question his motives.'

'Look,' said Hermione.

'No!' said Draco. “He didn’t come here to listen to us, he came here to make his point. So go ahead and make it, Smith.”

Smith looked a bit nervous at that, but bulled ahead anyway. “I heard you wanted us to learn to fight, but I want to understand what you lot are fighting for. He’s supposed to be some sort of Chosen One,” he said, gesturing at Harry, “So the papers make out these days. But it wasn’t that long ago they said he was crazy and then he shacked up with the Malfoys, and I’m not sure I get why we’re supposed to trust either of them. How do I know any of you are fighting for what we ought to be fighting for?”

“And what is that?” said Harry, his voice sharp but controlled. “What is it you think we should be fighting for?”

“Well,” said Smith, “To kill You-Know-Who and all his lot. But I would say a Malfoy is his lot, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one here thinks that!”

Harry stood up and looked over the room, face by face. “Is that what we’re fighting for?” he asked.

People looked confused, but some nodded their agreement with what Smith had suggested.

“No! Absolutely not.” said Harry loudly, making Cho’s friend jump. “We can’t win a war if we’re only fighting to kill people we disagree with. We can’t win anything if we can’t accept that people can learn and change and make mistakes and forgive.”

Everyone was silent, some looked as if maybe they understand what he meant, others just looked confused, and Smith looked just as suspicious as he had before.

‘Draco knows more about the other side than all of us put together,’ said Harry. ‘And that makes him invaluable as an ally and as a teacher. You should be falling over yourselves to hear what he has to say, not discarding it over his name or his past. He’s saved my life, and Hermione and Ron’s. Maybe one day he’ll save your life too. Or would you rather he didn’t just because of his name? Cause if that’s the case then you’re no better than them, discounting people because they don’t come from the right family.’

There was a long silence, but people did seem to be looking at Draco with more accepting eyes, and Draco had gone a little pink in the cheeks.

'So,' said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. 'So . . . like I was saying . . . if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to - '

'Is it true,' interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, 'that you can produce a Patronus?'

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this.

'Yeah,' said Harry slightly defensively.

'A corporeal Patronus?'

The phrase stirred something in Harry's memory.

'Er - you didn't know Madam Bones, did you?' he asked.

The girl looked sad. 'She was my auntie,' she said. 'I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing last year before... So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?'

'Yes,' said Harry.

'Blimey, Harry!' said Seamus, looking deeply impressed. 'I never knew that!'

'And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?' demanded Terry Boot. That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year . . .'

'Er - yeah, I did, yeah,' said Harry.

Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled; the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks and Lavender Brown said 'Wow!' softly. Harry was feeling slightly hot around the collar now.

'And in our first year,' said Neville to the group at large, 'he saved that Philological Stone - '

'Philosopher's,' hissed Hermione.

'Yes, that - from You-Know-Who,' finished Neville.

'And that's not to mention,' said Cho, smiling at him, 'all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantula and things . . .'

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. Harry's insides were squirming. He was trying to arrange his face so that he did not look too pleased with himself. The fact that Cho had just praised him made it much, much harder for him to say the thing he had sworn to himself he would tell them. He hadn’t realised he still fancied her, what with everything between him and Draco, but he supposed in some ways these things didn’t entirely wear off. He might not want to kiss her any more, but he still wanted to impress her.

'Look,' he said, and everyone fell silent at once, 'I . . . I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff . . .'

'Not with the dragon, you didn't,' said Michael Corner at once. 'That was a seriously cool bit of flying . . .'

'Yeah, well - ' said Harry, feeling it would be churlish to disagree.

'And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors last summer,' said Susan Bones.

'No,' said Harry, 'no, OK, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is -'

'Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?' said Zacharias Smith.

'Here's an idea,' said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, 'why don't you shut your mouth?'

Perhaps the word 'weasel' had affected Ron particularly strongly. In any case, he was now looking at Zacharias as though he would like nothing better than to thump him. Zacharias flushed.

'Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it,' he said.

That's not what he said,' said Hermione hastily, moving on . . . ‘the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?'

‘And Draco!’ added Harry, ignoring Draco’s heel grinding his toes into the floor.

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because several people were giving him death glares.

'Right,' said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. 'Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week - '

'Hang on,' said Ginny, 'we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice.'

'No,' said Cho, 'nor with ours.'

'Nor ours,' added Zacharias Smith.

'I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone,' said Hermione, slightly impatiently, 'but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters - '

And despite several people who still seemed a bit uncertain, they agree to meet once a week, just as soon as they could figure out where.

‘Can’t we meet here?” suggested Ginny.

‘No!’ said Draco immediately.

‘Besides, there isn’t enough room in here for all of us to practice spells,’ agreed Harry.

'Library?' suggested Michael Corner after a few moments.

'I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,' said Harry.

'Maybe an unused classroom?' said Dean.

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Triwizard.'

'Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere,' said Hermione. 'We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting.'

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill. ‘I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,' she took a deep breath, 'that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell just anybody else what we're up to. We already know there are people at the school who are in touch with Death Eaters'

Ginny reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote her signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people still looked unsure.

'Er . . .' said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that Neville was trying to pass to him, 'well . . . I'm sure Justin will tell me when the meeting is.'

But Justin was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

'It’s just… well if we sign that it’s making a bit of a statement don’t you think?’ said Justin.

'Yes, you are,' said Harry. ‘So if you’re not comfortable with that then feel free to just leave and that’ll be that.’

'No. No, I don’t need to leave,' said Justin, looking slightly less anxious. 'I - yes, of course I'll sign.'

Nobody raised objections after that, though Harry saw Cho's friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her own name. When the last person - Zacharias - had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.

'Well, time's ticking on,' said Draco briskly, getting to his feet. 'I’m sure you all have places to be that aren’t my bedroom.'

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave.

Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forwards to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.

Draco bared his teeth at her and she looked shocked and left rather quickly.

Harry stifled a laugh, if Draco had seen him getting flustered by Cho earlier he was in enough trouble already.

'Well, I think that went quite well,' said Hermione happily, as she closed the door behind the last person to leave, Luna.

'That Zacharias bloke's a wart,' said Ron.

'I don't like him much, either,' admitted Hermione, 'but he overheard me talking to Justin and Susan at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really - I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if he hadn't been going out with Ginny last year -'

Ron made a face at that, he wasn’t a fan of Ginny’s boyfriends, ex or otherwise. It had caused a bit of awkwardness in the dorms, with Dean having been with her for quite a while now. 'I didn't like him either,' he said.

'Big surprise,' said Hermione under her breath.

'I mean,' said Ron, following Hermione toward the door, 'What happened to Ginny fancying Harry!'

Hermione looked at him rather pityingly. ‘Not much point in her holding that torch, was there.’

‘Yeah, but I liked it when she fancied Harry, well I liked it better,’ muttered Ron. ‘There was no actual kissing or… other stuff… and Cho obviously still fancies him even though he’s taken.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Draco, turning to glare at Harry.

‘What?’ protested Harry feebly.

‘Don’t think I didn’t see you go all red when she smiled at you,’ Draco accused him. 'And she just couldn't keep her eyes off you, could she?'

Harry felt himself go annoyingly red again. ‘It’s nothing! So maybe she fancies me a bit, and yeah, I used to fancy her. But that was ages ago. I’m not interested any more.’

‘I suppose you fancying Cho means you’re probably bisexual,’ mused Hermione.

‘I don’t fancy Cho!’

Hermione shrugged and left, taking the list of names with her.

Ron looked around the room awkwardly. ‘Well, I guess I’ll get on too then,’ he said finally, and headed off, leaving Harry alone with a very annoyed looking Draco.


	6. Slughorn's Party

Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees to the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armour and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; fortunately, however, Harry's frequent night-time wanderings had given him an unusually good knowledge of the castle's secret passageways, so that he was able, without too much difficulty, to navigate mistletoe-free routes between classes.

“I just don’t get it,” said Harry, not for the first time. “They all know I’m with Draco, why do they keep trying?”

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione. “Being unavailable just makes you even more fanciable.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” said Harry.

“No,” sighed Hermione. “It doesn’t, but that’s how it works.”

Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours excuse for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roared with laughter about it all. Although Harry much preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model he had been enduring for the last few weeks, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, Harry had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Harry found himself once more the best friend of two people who seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, was taking a defensive and resentful tone. "She can't complain," he told Harry. "She broke up with me. So she's found out someone else wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong."

Harry did not answer, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as he was to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he was spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight. And as he and Draco were still not seeing eye to eye about Pansy, they didn’t have much to say to each other lately either.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbled. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said... just as friends... I'm a free agent…"

Harry turned a page of Quintessence, aware that Ron was watching him. Ron's voice trailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Harry thought he caught the words "Writing to Krum" and "Can't complain" again.

Hermione's schedule was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was, in any case, so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so they generally went to sit with Draco in his room.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Hermione, while Draco, who couldn’t give a damn about Ron and Hermione’s romantic entanglements, tried to ignore them. "I really couldn't care less."

She raised her quill and dotted an 'i' so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing. He thought his voice might soon vanish from the lack of use. He bent a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continued to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the Prince's useful additions to Libatius Borage's text.

"And incidentally," said Hermione, after a few moments, "you need to be careful."

"For the last time," said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse tone after three-quarters of an hour of silence, "I am not giving back this book. I've learned more from the Half-blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in--"

"I'm not talking about your stupid so-called Prince," said Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her. "I'm talking about earlier. I went into the girl's bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, since they heard Draco isn’t going, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work –"

Draco rolled his eyes and made a huffing sound, but continued to work on his essay.

"Why didn't you confiscate them then?" demanded Harry, it seemed extraordinary that Hermione's mania for upholding the rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," said Hermione scornfully, "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt the Half-blood Prince" she gave the book another scornful look "could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd avoid eating anything outside of this room. Or ask someone to go with you, as friends. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate."

"I can’t just eat in here," mumbled Harry, despite the fact that Draco had been doing exactly that for almost a year now. Besides, McGonagall would have his head if he started skipping mealtimes in the Great Hall. She was determined to maintain some sense of propriety.

"Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business." said Hermione grimly.

“We could go together,” Harry suggested, “I mean we basically are anyway, aren’t we?”

“Actually,” said Hermione, looking embarrassed. “I think I might be going with someone else.”

Harry looked at her suspiciously, but she didn’t seem about to tell him who. Besides his mind was still ticking over on another topic.

She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithmancy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill. Harry watched her with his mind a long way away.

"Hang on a moment," he said slowly. "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

"And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?" asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.

"But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into the school?"

"Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," said Hermione. "It's part of their Owl order service."

"You know a lot about it," remarked Draco, clearly annoyed by the whole topic.

Hermione gave him the kind of nasty look she had just given Harry’s copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer," she said coldly, "I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks... or pretending to either, which is just as bad…"

"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry quickly. "The point is, Filch is being fooled isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't Parkinson have brought the necklace into the school --?"

Draco kicked him in the ankle.

"Oh, Harry... not that again…" moaned Hermione.

"Come on, why not?" demanded Harry, rubbing his leg.

"Look," sighed Hermione, "Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find dark magic and dark objects. They'd have picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register -- anyway Love potions aren't dark or dangerous -"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Harry, thinking of Romilda Vane.

"-- so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from another."

Harry tried not to look annoyed. It seemed like nobody but him was willing to actually do anything to stop whatever it was Parkinson was up to, it was all very well having Snape watch over her, but Harry was less concerned about keeping Pansy safe than he was about making sure she didn’t hurt anyone else.

Hermione rolled up her scroll, “It’s getting late, we’d better get back to the dorms.”

“Yeah, I’m nearly done,” said Harry.

Five minutes later he packed away his things, kissed Draco on the side of the head and followed Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower.

With things a bit more settled, McGonagall had put her foot down before the start of the year and said she wouldn’t have Harry staying over with Draco whenever he wanted to as it set a bad example to the rest of the students. Snape had agreed wholeheartedly, claiming that the boys practically living together was bound to impact on their school work. So it had been agreed, with a great deal of argument, that he would only stay with Draco on non-school nights. He had promised to stick to the new rules on threat of Draco being moved into Professor Snape’s quarters so Harry couldn’t sneak in at all. Although Snape hadn’t looked terribly pleased with that possibility.

"Baubles" said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.

"Same to you," said the fat lady with a roguish grin, and she swung forward to admit them.

"Hi, Harry!" said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. "Fancy a gillywater?"

Hermione gave him a "what-did-I-tell-you?" look over her shoulder.

"No thanks," said Harry quickly. "I don't like it much."

"Well, take these anyway," said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

"Oh-- right -- thanks a lot." said Harry, who could not think what else to say. " Er-- I'm just going over here with …"

He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.

"Told you," said Hermione succinctly, "You better--" But her face suddenly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were intertwined in the same armchair.

"Well, good night, Harry" said Hermione through clenched teeth, and she left for the girls' dormitory without another word.

Harry went to bed comforting himself that there was only one more day of lessons to struggle through, plus Slughorn's party, after which he and Draco would have the whole of the Christmas Holidays to spend together without McGonagall able to complain about propriety or Parkinson here to distract him. It now seemed impossible that Ron and Hermione would make up with each other before the holidays began, but perhaps, somehow, the break would give them time to calm down, think better of their behaviour…

But his hopes were not high, and they sank still lower after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They had just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors , they were supposed to be changing the colour of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron's disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar moustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than Ron's just now, scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.

He finally tracked her down as she emerged from a girl's bathroom on the floor below. She was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who was patting her vaguely on the back.

"Oh, hello, Harry, " said Luna. "Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?"

"Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff…"

He held out her books.

"Oh, yes," said Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact she was wiping her eyes with her pencil case. "Thank you, Harry. Well, I'd better get going…" And she hurried off, without ever giving Harry any time to offer words of comfort, though admittedly he could not think of any.

"She's a bit upset," said Luna. "I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about Ron Weasley…"

"Yeah, they've had a row," said Harry.

"He says funny things sometimes, doesn't he?" said Luna as they set off down the corridor together. "But he can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year."

" I s'pose," said Harry. Luna was demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths; he had never met anyone quite like her. "So have you had a good term?"

"Oh, it's been all right," said Luna. "It’s much less lonely now we have the D.A. And Ginny's been nice. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me 'Loony' the other day –"

"How would you like to come to Slughorn's party with me tonight?"

The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them; he heard himself say them as though it were a stranger speaking.

Luna turned her protuberant eyes to him in surprise. "Slughorn's party? With you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "We're supposed to bring guests, and Draco hates Slughorn so he doesn’t want to go, so I thought you might like... I mean..." He was keen to make his intentions perfectly clear. "I mean, just as friends, you know. But if you don't want to…"

"Oh no, I'd love to go with you as friends!" said Luna, beaming as he had never seen her beam before. "Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I dye mine too?"

"No" said Harry firmly, "That was a mistake. I'll get Hermione to put it right for me. So I'll meet you in the entrance hall at eight o'clock then."

"AHA!" screamed a voice from overhead and both of them jumped; unnoticed by either of them, they had just passed underneath Peeves, who was hanging upside down from a chandelier and grinning maliciously at them.

"Potty asked Loony to go to the party! Potty lurves Loony! Potty luuuuuurves Looooony!"

And he zoomed away cackling and shrieking, "Potty loves Loony!"

"Nice to keep these things private," said Harry. And sure enough, in no time at all the whole school seemed to know that Harry Potter was taking Luna Lovegood to Slughorn's party. But then that had rather been the point, so he supposed he couldn’t complain. Hopefully now Romilda Vane would take the hint and leave him alone.

"You could've taken anyone!" said Ron in disbelief over dinner. "Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?"

"Don't call her that, Ron!" snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. "I'm really glad you're taking her Harry, she's so excited." And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean.

“It just seemed like a good idea at the time,” Harry said to Ron. “And Luna’s nice, a bit odd, but nice.”

A long way along the table Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.

"You could say sorry," suggested Harry bluntly.

"What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" muttered Ron.

"What did you have to imitate her for?"

"She laughed at my moustache!"

"So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

But Ron did not seem to have heard; Lavender had just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flung her arms around Ron's neck.

"Hi, Harry," said Parvati who, like Harry, looked faintly embarrassed and bored by the behaviour of their two friends.

"Hi," said Harry, "How're you? You're staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave."

"I managed to talk them out of it for the time being," said Parvati. "That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn't been anything since… Oh, hi, Hermione!"

Parvati positively beamed. Harry could tell that she was feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. He looked around and saw that Hermione was beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes.

"Hi, Parvati!" said Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

"No invite," said Parvati gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're -"

There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink, and Ron surfaced.

Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything. "- we're going up to the party together."

"Cormac?" said Parvati. "Cormac McLaggen, you mean?"

"That's right," said Hermione sweetly. "The one who *almost*" - she put a great deal of emphasis on the word - "became Gryffindor Keeper."

"Are you going out with him, then?" asked Parvati, wide-eyed.

"Oh - yes - didn't you know?" said Hermione, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle.

"No!" said Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. "Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen."

"I like *really good* Quidditch players," Hermione corrected her, still smiling. "Well, see you... Got to go and get ready for the party…"

She left. At once Lavender and Parvati put their heads together to discuss this new development, with everything they had ever heard about McLaggen, and all they had ever guessed about Hermione. Ron looked strangely blank and said nothing. Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.

When he arrived in the entrance hall at eight o'clock that night, he found an unusually large number of girls lurking there, all of whom seemed to be staring at him resentfully as he approached Luna. She was wearing a set of spangled silver robes that were attracting a certain amount of giggles from the onlookers, but otherwise she looked quite nice. Harry was glad, in any case, that she had left off her radish earrings, her butterbeer cork necklace, and her Spectrespecs.

"Hi," he said. "Shall we get going then?"

"Oh yes," she said happily. "Where is the party?"

"Slughorn's office," said Harry, leading her up the marble staircase away from all the staring and muttering. "Did you hear, there's supposed to be a vampire coming?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" asked Luna.

"I - what?" said Harry, disconcerted. "You mean the Minister of Magic?"

"Yes, he's a vampire," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Father wrote a very long article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he was forced not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn't want the truth to get out!"

Harry, who thought it most unlikely that Rufus Scrimgeour was a vampire, but who was used to Luna repeating her father's bizarre views as though they were fact, did not reply; they were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.

Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson , and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the centre of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.

"Harry, m'boy!" boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry and Luna had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"

Slughorn was wearing a tasselled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket.

Gripping Harry's arm so tightly he might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, Slughorn led him purposefully into the party; Harry seized Luna's hand and dragged her along with him.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of 'Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires' - and, of course, his friend Sanguini."

Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded. He looked rather bored. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.

"Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!" said Worple, peering shortsightedly up into Harry's face. "I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, 'Where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?'"

"Er," said Harry, "were you?"

"Just as modest as Horace described!" said Worple. "But seri-ously" – his manner changed; it became suddenly businesslike -- "I would be delighted to write it myself-- people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you – ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite -- Sanguini, stay here!" added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. "Here, have a pasty," said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry. "My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea –"

"I'm definitely not interested," said Harry firmly, "and I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry." He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.

"Hermione! Hermione !"

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!"

"What's happened to you?" asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly dishevelled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.

"Oh, I've just escaped -- I mean, I've just left Cormac," she said. "Under the mistletoe," she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most," said Hermione dispassionately. "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole –"

"You considered Smith?" said Harry, revoked.

"Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look like a gentleman. Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall...." The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, where Luna started chatting to Professor Trelawny, who was highly miffed that Professor Dumbledore had invited Firenze the centaur to tutor some of her NEWT students and quite voluble on the topic.

Harry drew closer to Hermione and said, "Let's get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do you really think I'd stoop that low?"

Harry looked at her shrewdly. "Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen--"

"There's a difference," said Hermione with dignity. "I've got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts."

"Good," said Harry fervently. "Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the next match –"

"Quidditch!" said Hermione angrily. "Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to 'A Hundred Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen' nonstop ever since -- oh no, here he comes!" She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

"Seen Hermione?" asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.

"No, sorry," said Harry, and he turned quickly to join in Luna's conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.

"Harry Potter!" said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.

"Oh, hello," said Harry unenthusiastically.

"My dear boy!" she said in a very carrying whisper. "The rumors! The stories! 'The Chosen One'! Of course, I have known for a very long time. . . . The omens were never good, Harry. . . But why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!"

"Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!" said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney s other side, his face very red, his velvet hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. "But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions!" said Slughorn, regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. "Instinctive, you know -- like his mother! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill -- why even Severus --" And to Harry's horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them. "Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" hiccuped Slughorn happily. "I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!"

Trapped, with Slughorns arm around his shoulders, Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed. "Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."

"Well, then, it's natural ability!" shouted Slughorn. "You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death -- never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don't think even you, Severus –"

"Really?" said Snape quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry, who felt a certain disquiet. The last thing he wanted was for Snape to start investigating the source of his newfound brilliance at Potions.

"Remind me what other subjects you're taking, Harry?" asked Slughorn.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration , Herbology…"

"All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror ," said Snape with the faintest sneer.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'd like to do," said Harry defiantly.

"And a great one you'll make too!" boomed Slughorn.

"I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. "The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're planning to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease."

Harry inhaled half his mead up his nose as he started to laugh. Really, it had been worth bringing Luna just for this. Emerging, from his goblet, coughing, sopping wet but still grinning, he saw something startled him out of his good humour: Pansy Parkinson being dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.

"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this student lurking in an upstairs corridor. She claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue her with an invitation?"

Parkinson pulled herself free of Filch's grip, looking furious. "All right, I wasn't invited!" she said angrily. "I was trying to gate crash, happy?"

"No, I'm not!" said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. "You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling' s out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"

"That's all right, Argus, that's all right," said Slughorn, waving his hand. "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Pansy.

Filch's expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Harry wondered, watching him, did Pansy look almost equally unhappy? And why wasn’t she dressed up for a party? And why was Snape looking at her as though both angry and . . . was it possible? ... a little afraid? But almost before Harry had registered what he had seen, Filch had turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Pansy had composed her face into a smile and was thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape's face was smoothly inscrutable again.

"It's nothing, nothing," said Slughorn, waving away Pansy's thanks. "I did know your Great Aunt, after all.…"

"She always spoke very highly of you, sir," said Pansy quickly. "Said you were the best potion-maker she'd ever known. …"

Harry stared at Parkinson. It was not the sucking-up that intrigued him; it seemed normal behaviour for Slytherins to fawn over people they thought might be useful to them. It was the fact that Pansy did, after all, look a little ill. This was the first time he had seen her close up for ages; he now saw that she had dark shadows under her eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to her skin, which he could only see because she wasn’t wearing as much makeup as usual. In fact it looked like she had done no more than smear on some lipstick, a far cry from her usual polished appearance.

"I'd like a word with you, Pansy," said Snape suddenly.

"Now, Severus," said Slughorn, hiccuping again, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard –"

"I am her Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or other-wise, to be," said Snape curtly. "Follow me, Pansy."

They left, Snape leading the way, Pansy looking nervous and resentful. Harry stood there for a moment, irresolute, then said, "I'll be back in a bit, Luna -- er – bathroom."

"All right," she said cheerfully, and he thought he heard her, as he hurried off into the crowd, resume the subject of the Rotfang Conspiracy with Professor Trelawney, who seemed sincerely interested. It was easy, once out of the party, to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throw it over himself, for the corridor was quite deserted. What was more difficult was finding Snape and Pansy. Harry ran down the corridor, the noise of his feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn's office behind him. Perhaps Snape had taken Parkinson to his office in the dungeons … or perhaps he was escorting her back to the Slytherin common room. . . . Harry pressed his ear against door after door as he dashed down the corridor until, with a great jolt of excitement, he crouched down to the keyhole of the last classroom in the corridor and heard voices.

" . . . cannot afford mistakes, Pansy, because if you are expelled –"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, so leave me be."

"I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me?" said Pansy angrily. "For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no-one knows about – don't look at me like that! I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work -- I can stop you!"

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, "Ah . . . someone has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Pansy?"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re not my master.”

“So we are still playing that game are we.”

“You’re the one playing games, trying to trick me into talking to you. What I can’t figure out is if you’re really with them or if you’re looking for a way to get back in his good books.”

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Pansy –"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" said Parkinson haughtily. There was another pause.

Then Snape said, "You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things."

"Because you don’t want Dumbledore to know what I’m up to, because you want to get back in with our side and play both ends again. Traitor."

"Listen to me," said Snape, his voice so low now that Harry had to push his ear very hard against the keyhole to hear. "I am trying to help you. I swore an oath to someone who cares about you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Pansy –"

He heard Pansy’s indrawn breath, it was so sharp. “The Unbreakable Vow?”

“Yes,” said Snape, his voice tired.

“To do what?”

“To protect you.”

There was a long pause, and Harry desperately wished he could see their faces.

But finally Pansy said, "It doesn’t matter, because I don't need your protection! You’re probably lying anyway. I don’t need your help, I have a plan!"

"What is your plan?"

"It's none of your business!"

"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you …"

"I have all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!"

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes –"

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!"

"Keep your voice down!" spat Snape, for Parkinson's voice had risen excitedly. "If Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres –"

"What does it matter?" said Parkinson. "Defence Against the Dark Arts – its all just a joke, isn't it, an act? You’re the one needs protecting against the Dark Arts, not us –"

"It is an act that is crucial to success, Pansy!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle –"

"They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!"

"Then why not confide in me, and I can –"

"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"

There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your sudden elevation has given you some false bravado, but –"

Harry had barely a seconds warning; he heard Parkinson's footsteps on the other side of the door and flung himself out of the way just as it burst open. Pansy was hurrying away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorns office, around the distant corner, and out of sight. Hardly daring to breathe, Harry remained crouched down as Snape emerged slowly from the classroom. His expression unfathomable, he returned to the party. Harry remained on the floor, hidden beneath the cloak, his mind racing.


	7. Sectumsempra

Exhausted but delighted with his night's work, Harry told Draco, Ron and Hermione everything that had happened during next morning's Charms lesson (having first cast the Muffliato spell upon those nearest them). They were all satisfyingly impressed by the way he had wheedled the memory out of Slughorn and positively awed when he told them about Voldemort's Horcruxes and Dumbledore's promise to take Harry along, should he find another one. Well, except for Draco, who didn’t seem enamoured of Harry going off with the Headmaster and into danger without him.

"Wow," said Ron, when Harry had finally finished telling them everything; Ron was waving his wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore . . . and try and destroy . . . wow."

"Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall. Lavender Brown, Harry noticed, glared at Hermione from a neighbouring table through very red eyes, and Hermione immediately let go of Ron’s arm.

"Oh yeah," said Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now. …"

He brushed some of the fake snow off Hermione’s shoulder. Lavender burst into tears. Ron looked immensely guilty and turned his back on her.

"We split up," he told Harry out of the corner of his mouth, "Last night. When she saw me coming out of the dormitory with Hermione. Obviously she couldn't see you, so she thought it had just been the two of us."

"Ah," said Harry. "Well -- you don't mind it's over, do you?"

"No," Ron admitted. "It was pretty bad while she was yelling, but at least I didn't have to finish it."

"Coward," said Hermione, though she looked amused. "Well, it was a bad night for romance all around. Ginny and Dean split up too, Harry."

"How come?" he asked, he had thought Ginny and Dean were pretty solid.

"Oh, something really silly . . . She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn't climb in herself . . . but they've been a bit rocky for ages."

Harry glanced over at Dean on the other side of the classroom. He certainly looked unhappy.

"Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn't it?" said Hermione.

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, confused.

"The Quidditch team," said Hermione. "If Ginny and Dean aren't speaking . . ."

"Oh -- oh yeah," said Harry.

"Flitwick," said Ron in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms master was bobbing his way toward them, and Hermione and Draco were the only two who had managed to turn vinegar into wine; their glass flasks were full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Harry's and Ron's were still murky brown.

"Now, now, boys," squeaked Professor Flitwick reproachfully. "A little less talk, a little more action . . . Let me see you try. . . ."

Together they raised their wands, concentrating with all their might, and pointed them at their flasks. Harry's vinegar turned to ice; Ron’s flask exploded.

"Yes ... for homework," said Professor Flitwick, re-emerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, "practice."

They had one of their rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. Ron seemed to be positively light-hearted about the end of his relationship with Lavender, and Hermione seemed cheery too, though when asked what she was grinning about she simply said, "It's a nice day."

Harry, trying to persuade Draco that he would be perfectly safe with Dumbledore, barely noticed that they were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely registered the small group of seventh years clustered together there, until Hermione cried, "Katie! You're back! Are you okay?"

Harry stared: It was indeed Katie Bell, looking completely healthy and surrounded by her jubilant friends.

"I'm really well!" she said happily. "They let me out of St. Mungo’s on Monday, I had a couple of days at home with Mum and Dad and then came back here this morning. Leanne was just telling me about McLaggen and the last match, Harry. . . ."

"Yeah," said Harry, "well, now you're back and Ron's fit, we'll have a decent chance of thrashing Ravenclaw, which means we could still be in the running for the Cup. Listen, Katie . . ."

He had to put the question to her at once; his curiosity couldn’t wait. He dropped his voice as Katie's friends started gathering up their things; apparently they were late for Transfiguration. ". . . that necklace . . . can you remember who gave it to you now?"

"No," said Katie, shaking her head ruefully. "Everyone's been asking me, but I haven't got a clue. The last thing I remember was walking into the ladies' in the Three Broomsticks."

"You definitely went into the bathroom, then?" said Hermione.

"Well, I know I pushed open the door," said Katie, "so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind it. After that, my memory's a blank until about two weeks ago in St. Mungo's. Listen, I'd better go, I wouldn't put it past McGonagall to give me lines even if it is my first day back. …"

She caught up her bag and books and hurried after her friends, leaving the four of them to sit down at a window table and ponder what she had told them.

"So it must have been a girl or a woman who gave Katie the necklace," said Hermione, "to be in the ladies' bathroom."

"Or someone who looked like a girl or a woman," said Harry. "Don't forget, there was a cauldron full of Polyjuice Potion at Hogwarts. We know some of it got stolen. . . ."

In his mind's eye, he watched a parade of Crabbes and Goyles prance past, all transformed into girls.

"I think I'm going to take another swig of Felix," said Harry, "and have a go at the Room of Requirement again."

"That would be a complete waste of potion," said Hermione flatly, putting down the copy of Spellmans Syllabary she had just taken out of her bag. "Luck can only get you so far, Harry. The situation with Slughorn was different; you always had the ability to persuade him, you just needed to tweak the circumstances a bit. Luck isn't enough to get you through a powerful enchantment, though. Don't go wasting the rest of that potion!”

“I agree. Besides, you'll need all the luck you can get if Dumbledore takes you along with him ..." Draco added, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Couldn't we make some more?" Ron asked Harry. "It'd be great to have a stock of it. ... Have a look in the book... "

Harry pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag, and looked up Felix Felicis. "Blimey, its seriously complicated," he said, running an eye down the list of ingredients. "And it takes six months... You've got to let it stew. …"

"Typical," said Ron.

Harry was about to put his book away again when he noticed the corner of a page folded down; turning to it, he saw the Sectumsempra spell, captioned "For Enemies," that he had marked a few weeks previously. He had still not found out what it did, mainly because he did not want to test it around Hermione or Draco, but he was considering trying it out on McLaggen next time he came up behind him unawares.

The only person who was not particularly pleased to see Katie Bell back at school was Dean Thomas, because he would no longer be required to fill her place as Chaser. He took the blow stoically enough when Harry told him, merely grunting and shrugging, but Harry had the distinct feeling as he walked away that Dean and Seamus were muttering mutinously behind his back.

The following fortnight saw the best Quidditch practices Harry had known as Captain. His team was so pleased to be rid of McLaggen, so glad to have Katie back at last, that they were flying extremely well.

Ginny did not seem at all upset about the breakup with Dean; on the contrary, she was the life and soul of the team. Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle sped toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, kept them all highly amused. Harry, laughing with the others, was glad to have her around. He almost thought, that if he wasn’t taken, he might find her rather attractive. Perhaps it was him, not Hermione, who had a thing for Quidditch players.

The balmy days slid gently through May, and Harry found himself longing for a stroke of luck that would let him finally reveal Pansy for what she was. If it wasn’t for his constant worry as to what she was up to, this would have been the perfect year. Even Ron and Hermione weren’t arguing any more, and Harry was sure they would be back together before long.

Interest in the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game was running extremely high throughout the school, for the match would decide the Championship, which was still wide open. If Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw by a margin of three hundred points (a tall order, and yet Harry had never known his team to fly better) then they would win the Championship. If they won by less than three hundred points, they would come second to Ravenclaw; if they lost by a hundred points they would be third behind Hufflepuff and if they lost by more than a hundred, they would be in fourth place and nobody, Harry thought, would ever, ever let him forget that it had been he who had captained Gryffindor to their first bottom-of-the-table defeat in two centuries.

The run-up to this crucial match had all the usual features: members of rival Houses attempting to intimidate opposing teams in the corridors; unpleasant chants about individual players being rehearsed loudly as they passed; the team members themselves either swaggering around enjoying all the attention or else dashing into bathrooms between classes to throw up. Somehow, the game had become inextricably linked in Harry's mind with success or failure. He could not help feeling that if they won by more than three hundred points, then somehow everything else this year would work itself out as well.

He was still checking the Marauder's Map, and as he was unable to locate Parkinson on it, deduced that she was still spending plenty of time within the room. Although Harry was losing hope that he would ever succeed in getting inside the Room of Requirement while she was there, he attempted it whenever he was in the vicinity, but no matter how he reworded his request, the wall remained firmly doorless.

A few days before the match against Ravenclaw, Harry found himself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay. More out of habit than anything, Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder's Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Parkinson anywhere and assumed she must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he saw her tiny, labelled dot standing in a girls' bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle.

Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armour. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.

Pansy Parkinson was standing with her back to the door, her hands clutching either side of the sink, her dark head bowed and her hair dishevelled.

"Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. “Don't. . . tell me what's wrong ... I can help you. . . ."

"No one can help me," said Pansy. Her whole body was shaking. "I can't do it. ... I can't. ... It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon ... he says he'll kill me. …"

And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Pansy was crying -- actually crying -- tears streaming down her pale face into the grimy basin. Pansy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at her over her shoulder.

She wheeled around, drawing her wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Parkinson's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! And flicked his wand, but Pansy blocked the jinx and raised her wand for another –

"No! No! Stop it!" squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!"

There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Pansy's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Parkinson, her face contorted, cried, "Cruci –"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurted from Pansy's face and chest as though she had been slashed with an invisible sword. She staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, her wand falling from her limp right hand.

"No --" gasped Harry.

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Pansy, whose face was now shining scarlet, her white hands scrabbling at her blood-soaked chest.

"No -- I didn't –" Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Pansy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of her own blood.

Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Pansy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from her face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his countercurse for the third time, he half-lifted Pansy into a standing position.

"You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that.. . . Come.…"

He supported Pansy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, "And you, Potter . . . You wait here for me."

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

Snape returned ten minutes later. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

"Go," he said to Myrtle, and she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

"I didn't mean it to happen," said Harry at once. His voice echoed in the cold, watery space. "I didn't know what that spell did."

But Snape ignored this. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he said quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?"

"I -- read about it somewhere."

"Where?"

"It was -- a library book," Harry invented wildly. "I can't remember what it was call –"

"Liar," said Snape. Harry's throat went dry. He knew what Snape was going to do, but he had kept up his studies and thought he could keep him out …

The bathroom seemed to shimmer before his eyes; he struggled to block out all thought, but try as he might, the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hazily to the forefront of his mind.

And then he was staring at Snape again, in the midst of this wrecked, soaked bathroom. He stared into Snape's black eyes, hoping against hope that Snape had not seen what he feared, but –

"Bring me your schoolbag," said Snape softly, "and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!"

There was no point arguing. Harry turned at once and splashed out of the bathroom. Once in the corridor, he broke into a run toward Gryffindor Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at him, drenched in water and blood, but he answered none of the questions fired at him as he ran past.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn -- Harry's stomach churned -- how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much . . . the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen. . . . He could not. . .

"Where've you -- ? Why are you soaking -- ? Is that blood." Ron was standing at the top of the stairs, looking bewildered at the sight of Harry.

"I need your book," Harry panted. "Your Potions book. Quick . . . give it to me . . ."

“But what about the Half-Blood –"

"I'll explain later!"

Ron pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and handed it over; Harry sprinted off past him and back to the common room. Here, he seized his schoolbag, ignoring the amazed looks of several people who had already finished their dinner, threw himself back out of the portrait hole, and hurtled off along the seventh-floor corridor.

He skidded to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his eyes, and began to walk. I need a place to hide my book. . . . I need a place to hide my book. . . . I need a place to hide my book. …

Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of blank wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry wrenched it open, flung him self inside, and slammed it shut.

He gasped. Despite his haste, his panic, his fear of what awaited him back in the bathroom, he could not help but be overawed by what he was looking at. He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover half-heartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe.

Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard that seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard's creaking doors: It had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long since died; its skeleton had five legs. He stuffed the Half-Blood Princes book behind the cage and slammed the door. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping horribly, gazing around at all the clutter. . . . Would he be able to find this spot again amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby crate, he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statues head to make it more distinctive, then sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk as fast as he could go, back to the door, back out onto the corridor, where he slammed the door behind him, and it turned at once back into stone.

Harry ran flat-out toward the bathroom on the floor below, cramming Ron's copy of Advanced Potion-Making into his bag as he did so. A minute later, he was back in front of Snape, who held out his hand wordlessly for Harry's schoolbag. Harry handed it over, panting, a searing pain in his chest, and waited.

One by one, Snape extracted Harry’s books and examined them., Finally, the only book left was the Potions book, which he looked at very carefully before speaking.

"This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry, still breathing hard.

"You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry, with a touch more defiance.

"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes," said Harry firmly.

"Then why," asked Snape, "does it have the name 'Roonil Wazlib' written inside the front cover?"

Harry's heart missed a beat. "That's my nickname," he said.

"Your nickname," repeated Snape.

"Yeah . . . that's what my friends call me," said Harry.

"I understand what a nickname is," said Snape. The cold, black eyes were boring once more into Harry's; he tried not to look into them. Close your mind. . . . Close your mind. . . . And this time he managed it. . . .

"Do you know what I think, Potter?" said Snape, very quietly. "I think that you nearly killed a fellow student through the careless use of dark magic. I further think that you are attempting to hide the source of that magic from me. What do you think, Potter?"

"I -- I’m not trying to hide anything. But I’m sorry I used a spell I didn’t understand, sir. I wouldn’t hurt someone like that on purpose," said Harry, still refusing to look into Snape's eyes.

"Well, we shall see how you feel after your detentions," said Snape. "Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But sir . . ." said Harry, looking up desperately. "Quidditch . . . the last match of the …"

"Ten o'clock," whispered Snape, with a smile that showed his yellow teeth. "Poor Gryffindor. . . fourth place this year, I fear …"

And he left the bathroom without another word, leaving Harry to stare into the cracked mirror, feeling sicker, he was sure, than Ron had ever felt in his life.

"I won't say I told you so,'" said Hermione, an hour later in the common room.

"Leave it, Hermione," said Ron angrily.

Harry had never made it to dinner; he had no appetite at all. He had just finished telling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what had happened, not that there seemed to have been much need. The news had travelled very fast: Apparently Moaning Myrtle had taken it upon herself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story; Parkinson had already been visited in the hospital wing by Blaise Zabini, who had lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide, and Snape had told the staff precisely what had happened. Harry had already been called out of the common room to endure fifteen highly unpleasant minutes in the company of Professor McGonagall, who had told him he was lucky not to have been expelled and that she supported wholeheartedly Snape's punishment of detention every Saturday until the end of term.

"I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person," Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. "And I was right, wasn't I."

"No, I don't think you were," said Harry stubbornly.

He was having a bad enough time without Hermione lecturing him; the looks on the Gryffindor team's faces when he had told them he would not be able to play on Saturday had been the worst punishment of all. Although he knew there was worse to come, he had not yet gone to see Draco, to tell him what had happened. Assuming Snape had not already informed him...

"Harry," said Hermione, "how can you still stick up for that book when that spell –"

"Will you stop harping on about the book!" snapped Harry. "The Prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!"

"I don't believe this," said Hermione. "You're actually defending--

"I'm not defending what I did!" said Harry quickly. "I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that on purpose, but you can't blame the Prince, he hadn't written 'try this out, it's really good' -- he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else. . . ."

"Are you telling me," said Hermione, "that you're going to go back -- ?"

"And get the book? Yeah, I am," said Harry forcefully. "Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I'd never have –"

"-- got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve," said Hermione nastily.

"Give it a rest, Hermione!" said Ginny, and Harry was so surprised, he looked up. "By the sound of it, Parkinson was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!"

"Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!" said Hermione, clearly stung. "But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match –"

"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch," snapped Ginny, "you'll only embarrass yourself."

Harry and Ron stared: Hermione and Ginny, who had always got on together very well, were now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looked nervously at Harry, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it. Harry, however, knew it was time he faced the music. He smiled his thanks at Ginny for the support and left the common room.

His dressing down from Draco only further inflated his guilt. Then there were Slytherin taunts to be endured next day, not to mention much anger from fellow Gryffindors, who were most unhappy that their Captain had got himself banned from the final match of the season. By Saturday morning, whatever he might have told Hermione, Harry would have gladly exchanged all the Felix Felicis in the world to be walking down to the Quidditch pitch with Ron, Ginny, and the others. It was almost unbearable to turn away from the mass of students streaming out into the sunshine, all of them wearing rosettes and hats and brandishing banners and scarves, to descend the stone steps into the dungeons and walk until the distant sounds of the crowd were quite obliterated, knowing that he would not be able to hear a word of commentary or a cheer or groan. He didn’t know how Draco did it, he knew the other boy loved Quidditch as much as he did, and yet he continued to claim he didn’t care that he couldn’t play any more.

"Ah, Potter," said Snape, when Harry had knocked on his door and entered the unpleasantly familiar office that Snape, despite teaching floors above now, had not vacated; it was as dimly lit as ever and the same slimy dead objects were suspended in coloured potions all around the walls. Ominously, there were many cob-webbed boxes piled on a table where Harry was clearly supposed to sit; they had an aura of tedious, hard, and pointless work about them.

"Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files," said Snape softly. "They are the records of other Hogwarts wrongdoers and their punishments. Where the ink has grown faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they are in alphabetical order, replace them in the boxes. You will not use magic."

"Right, Professor," said Harry, trying not to sound too angry. He had nearly killed Pansy Parkinson, he did deserve to be punished. He just didn’t think he deserved to miss the match on top of that, not when he was the team Captain.

"I thought you could start," said Snape, a smug smile on his lips, “with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see . . ."

He pulled out a card from one of the topmost boxes with a flourish and read, "James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey’s head twice normal size. Double detention." Snape sneered. "Though they are gone, a record of their great achievements remains."

Harry wondered whether this was supposed to be a double punishment or a kindness in Snape’s mind. Although they got on better now, they still didn’t see eye to eye on most things, and he was still far from understanding the complex man. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from asking, he sat down in front of the boxes and pulled one toward him.

It was, as Harry had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated with the regular jolt in the stomach that meant he had just read his Father’s name, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds with Sirius, and occasionally accompanied by Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. It was both disconcerting and sort of nice. And while he copied out all their various offences and punishments, he wondered what was going on outside, where the match would have just started . . . Ginny playing Seeker against Cho . . . now that was a distracting image… what was up with him at the moment? He seemed to be more and more aware of all the people that he found attractive, whereas last year he’d only been able to think about Draco. And it seemed maybe Hermione was right about him liking both girls and boys. Was it that they were fighting about Pansy so much? Or that they were spending less time together, with McGonagall’s new rules? He didn’t think he felt any differently about Draco. He just seemed to be noticing other people as well. Maybe he should talk to Sirius about it.

Harry glanced again and again at the large clock ticking on the wall. It seemed to be moving half as fast as a regular clock; perhaps Snape had bewitched it to go extra slowly? He could not have been here for only half an hour ... an hour ... an hour and a half. . . .

Harry's stomach started rumbling when the clock showed half past twelve. Snape, who had not spoken at all since setting Harry his task, finally looked up at ten past one.

"I think that will do," he said coldly. "Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday."

“Yes, sir.”

Harry stuffed a bent card into the box at random and hurried out of the door before Snape could change his mind, racing back up the stone steps, straining his ears to hear a sound from the pitch, but all was quiet... It was over, then...

He hesitated outside the crowded Great Hall, then ran up the marble staircase; whether Gryffindor had won or lost, the team usually celebrated or commiserated in their own common room.

"Quid agis?" he said tentatively to the Fat Lady, wondering what he would find inside.

Her expression was unreadable as she replied, "You'll see."

And she swung forward.

A roar of celebration erupted from the hole behind her. Harry gaped as people began to scream at the sight of him; several hands pulled him into the room.

"We won!" yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"

Harry looked around in surprised exhilaration; and there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And she kissed him. And without thinking, Harry kissed her back.

After one long moment Harry pulled himself back, shocked. The room had gone very quiet. Ginny stared at him, wild eyed, and he stared back at her.

There was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Ginny's head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione looked shocked, but Harry's eyes sought Ron. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression of deep confusion. For a fraction of a second they looked at each other, then Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry understood to mean, What the fuck are you doing?

Harry looked back at Ginny and awkwardly wiped his mouth with his hand. “Um… I didn’t… I just… that is...”

Ginny stopped looking surprised and started looking embarrassed. “Yeah,” she said, “Of course. I didn’t either.” But she looked oddly hurt.

Then the room moved on and noise and movement began to swirl around them again. Ginny was drawn away by some girls in her year and Harry was left standing alone and not knowing what to think. Kissing Ginny had been… okay. It hadn’t been unpleasant. In fact, for a second it had even been nice.

 


	8. The Lightning-Struck Tower

Harry pulled his cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself before mounting his broom; Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Harry and Dumbledore kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As they sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, ready to grab him should he fall, but the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant: he was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air. And Harry, too, looked ahead at the skull, and fear swelled inside him like a venomous bubble, compressing his lungs, driving all other discomfort from his mind…

How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione, and Draco’s luck run out by now? Had Draco stayed in his room as he had asked or was he out with the others? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Ginny, or Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the DA? And if it was… he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds… would be he responsible, again, for someone’s death?

As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there?

Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around.

The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body.

“What does it mean?” Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with it’s serpent’s tongue glinting evilly above them. “Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been – Professor?”

In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.

“Go and wake Severus,” said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. “Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.”

“But-”

“You swore to obey me, Harry – go!”

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.

The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: “Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. He could not understand how it had happened – Expelliarmus was not a Freezing Charm -

Then, by the light of the Mark, he saw Dumbledore’s wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood… Dumbledore had wordlessly immobilised Harry, and the second he had taken to perform the spell had cost him the chance of defending himself.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no signs of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, “Good evening, Pansy.”

Pansy Parkinson stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that she and Dumbledore were alone. Her eyes fell upon the second broom.

“Who else is here?”

“A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?”

Harry saw Pansy’s dark eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark.

“No,” she said. “I’ve got back-up. There are Death-Eaters here in your school tonight.”

“Well, well,” said Dumbledore, as though Parkinson was showing him some ambitious homework project. “Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?”

“Yes,” said Pansy, who was slightly breathless. “Right under your nose and you never realised!”

“Ingenious,” said Dumbledore. “Yet… forgive me… where are they now? You seem unsupported.”

“They met some of your teachers. They’re fighting down below. They won’t be long… I came on ahead. I’ve got a job to do.” Her breathing was becoming steady and she straightened up a little more with a proud toss of her head.

“Well then, you must get on and do it, my dear girl,” said Dumbledore softly.

There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at he two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters’ distant fight, and in front of him, Pansy Parkinson did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled.

“Pansy, Pansy, you are not a killer.”

“Is that what you think?” said Pansy. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. What I’ve already done!”

“Oh yes I do,” said Dumbledore mildly. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Pansy, but they have been feeble attempts… so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it...”

“Wonder all you like,” she replied. “If you think I’m afraid to do it, that you can talk me out of it, you’re wrong. I just want to make sure I have witnesses. I want there to be no uncertainty as to who finally ended the life of Albus Dumbledore.”

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below Harry heard a muffled yell. Parkinson stiffened and glanced over her shoulder.

“Somebody is putting up a good fight,” said Dumbledore conversationally, but to Harry’s eye he seemed less relaxed than before. “But you were saying… yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible… how did you do it?”

Pansy focused on him again, looking smug through her nerves. “I mended the broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one ever paid any attention to. The one Montague got lost in last year.”

“Aaaah.” Dumbledore’s sigh was half groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. “That was clever… it is half of a pair, I take it?”

“The other’s in Borgin and Burkes,” said Pansy. “and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told us all about it, how he could sometimes hear the shop and other times the school when he was stuck, as if the Cabinet was travelling between them. In the end he got out by Apparating, even though he hadn’t passed his test. Almost killed him. I was the only one who realised what the story meant – even Borgin didn’t know – I was the one who realised there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one.”

“Very good,” murmured Dumbledore. “So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you… a clever plan, a very clever plan… and, as you say, right under my nose...”

“Yes,” said Pansy who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore’s praise. “Yes, it was.”

“But there were times,” Dumbledore went on, “weren’t there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands… poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink...”

“Yes, well, you still didn’t realise who was behind all that, did you?” snapped Pansy, as Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and Harry struggled fruitlessly, mutely, against the enchantment binding him. If only he knew how to project himself out of his body like Draco had done when they captured Peter Pettigrew, he could get a message to someone, tell them they were here. Why had Dumbledore stopped him from being able to act?

“As a matter of fact, I did,” said Dumbledore. “I was quite sure it was you.”

“Why didn’t you stop me then?” Pansy demanded.

“I tried, Pansy. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders -”

“He hasn’t been doing your orders, he’s trying to get back into the Dark Lord’s good graces -”

“Of course that is what he would tell you, Pansy -”

“He’s not on your side, you stupid old man. He’s on his own side like all of us Slytherin’s have to be!”

“We must agree to differ on that, Pansy. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape -”

“Well you’re a fool then!” Pansy shouted. “He’s been offering me plenty of help – wanting some of the glory for himself to save his miserable life - ‘What are you doing? Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything -’ But I didn’t tell him what I was doing on the Seventh Floor in that secret room Potter uses for his stupid Defence Club, he’s going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll be all over and my Parents and I will be the Dark Lord’s favourites and I’ll be able to get him to forgive Draco!”

“Odd that you should mention Draco,” said Dumbledore mildly. “I can’t think he would approve of your methods. But you must have had an accomplice of some sort, all the same… someone in Hogsmeade I should think – aaah...” Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep. “... of course… Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?”

Pansy just smiled.

There was another yell from below and then a bang and some shouts, louder than before; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Pansy and Harry stood, and Harry’s heart thundered unheard in his invisible chest… who was winning? Who would make it all the way up the stairs and out onto the Tower?

“There is little time, one way or another,” said Dumbledore. “So let us discuss your options, Pansy.”

“My options!” said Pansy loudly. “I’m standing here with a wand – I’m about to kill you -”

“My dear girl, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Pansy, suddenly almost as white as Dumbledore. “I may be nervous, but I will do it! If I don’t, someone else will and they’ll get the glory. This is our chance to be something! The Malfoy’s are traitors, someone has to take their place and I’m going to make sure it’s the Parkinson’s!”

Dumbledore suddenly looked uncertain, Harry saw his eyes flicker to the door as if he hoped to see someone come through it.

“Pansy,” he said. “This is not the way to achieve glory. Your family can still make another choice...”

“No they can’t,” said Pansy, her wand hand quivering slightly. “Nobody can. If I betray him now he’ll kill my parents. He won’t make the same mistake he made with the Malfoy’s, he’s still furious that they all got away from him. He’ll never let that happen again.”

“I can help you...” Dumbledore began.

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs and four people in black robes burst through the door. Harry gazed in terror upon four strangers: it seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle. “Dumbledore cornered!” he said, and he turned to a stocky woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. “Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Pansy, well done!”

“Good evening, Amycus,” said Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party. “And you’ve brought Alecto too… charming...”

The woman gave an angry little titter.

“Think your little jokes’ll help you on your death bed, then?” she jeered.

“Jokes? No, no, these are manners,” replied Dumbledore.

“Do it,” said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose Black Death Eater’s robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat and, unmistakeably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.

“Is that you, Fenrir?” asked Dumbledore.

“That’s right,” rasped the other. “Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?”

“No, I cannot say that I am...”

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.

“But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.”

“Am I to take it you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual… you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?”

“That’s right,” said Greyback. “Shocks you, that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?”

“Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little,” said Dumbledore. “And, yes, I am a little shocked that Pansy here invited you, of all people, into the school where her friends live...”

“I didn’t,” breathed Pansy. She was not even looking at Greyback; she did not seem to want to even glance at him. “I didn’t know he was going to come -”

“I wouldn’t want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore,” rasped Greyback. “Not when there are throats to be ripped out… delicious, delicious...”

And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore.

“I could do you for afters, Dumbledore...”

“No,” said the fourth Death Eater sharply. He had a heavy, brutal-looking face. “We’ve got orders. Pansy’s to do it. Now, girl, quickly.”

Pansy was looking more resolute, her hand stronger on her wand which had raised back up to fully point at Dumbledore’s face, which was even paler, and rather lower than usual, as he had slid so far down the rampart wall.

“He’s not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!” said the lopsided man, to the accompaniment of his sister’s wheezing giggles. “Look at him – what’s happened to you, then, Dumby?”

“Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus,” said Dumbledore. “Old age, in short… one day, perhaps, it will happen to you… if you are lucky...”

“What’s that mean, then, what’s that mean?” yelled the Death Eater, suddenly violent. “Always the same, weren’t yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing, I don’t even know why the Dark Lord’s bothering to kill yeh! Come on, Pansy, do it!”

But at that moment, there were renewed sounds of scuffling from below and a voice shouted, “They’ve blocked the stairs – Reducto! REDUCTO!”

Harry’s heart leapt: so these four had not eliminated all opposition, but merely broken through the fight to the top of the Tower, and, by the sound of it, created a barrier behind them -

“Now, Pansy, quickly!” said the brutal-faced man angrily. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

But Pansy’s wand was firm and she took a determined step forward.

Harry’s heart froze, there was no more time, the people downstairs had to break through now or…

“Avada Kedavra,” shrieked Pansy.

A jet of green light shot from the end of Pansy’s wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Harry’s scream of horror never left him; silent and unmoving, he was forced to watch as Dumbledore slumped fully to the ground.

Fenrir Greyback darted forward and hauled his body up to sniff at it. “Dead,” he pronounced with grim satisfaction. Pansy took a half step forward, her hands shaking again and her face so white he thought she might faint.

Harry suddenly realised he could move again; what was now holding him paralysed against the wall was not magic, but horror and shock. He threw the invisibility cloak aside as Fenrir opened his mouth to possibly, horrifically, take a bite out of Dumbledore’s limp body.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Fenrir Greyback buckled and Dumbledore’s body fell back, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight. But Greyback had barely hit the floor before Harry was face to face with the brutal-faced Death Eater.

But at that precise moment the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene.

“Professor Snape,” Pansy gasped, and it sounded oddly like a plea for help.

“We’re done, let’s go,” shouted Amycus, grabbing Pansy by the arm and Harry realised he had picked up the broom he had left lying on the ground. His sister had picked up Dumbledore’s.

Snape dodged a curse they sent his way and Harry dived aside as the Death Eater in front of him remembered he was there and tried to grab him by the scruff of the neck. He rolled and found himself uncomfortably near Fenrir Greyback, who was already stirring, werewolves could be quite resistant to magic.

Amycus, Pansy and Alecto had already dived off the Tower and were presumably fleeing on the brooms. “They’re getting away!” Harry hollered as he rolled again to avoid a stamp to his head. For some reason the brutal faced Death Eater wasn’t attacking him with magic.

Fenrir Greyback was up and body slammed Snape back through the Tower door. Harry heard them tumbling down the stairs.

He fumbled his wand and cast “Petrificus Totalus” at the Death Eater attacking him. He avoided the first, but Harry persisted and caught him with the second, then followed Snape and Greyback down the stairs…

  



End file.
